


The Spider's Thread

by lamellae



Series: DGD [1]
Category: Dance Gavin Dance (Band)
Genre: Explicit Language, From Sex to Love, M/M, RPF, both of them are emotionally repressed weirdos, content warning for drugs (weed)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-03-20 08:22:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18988885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamellae/pseuds/lamellae
Summary: Sometimes you just get a little pent up on tour. Sexual content RPF (sorry). Check the A/N at the very very end if you have any questions.Shout out to Chocolate_jackolope and their super cute Jon/Til fics ;)





	1. Chapter 1

_It was totally, one-hundred percent casual._

Totally casual. No strings attached.

At least, that’s what Jon was trying to convince himself of as he and Tilian stepped through the dark end of the show building. They looked it up ahead of time; the concert hall used to be a school. While one half was used fairly regularly to host shows and bands like theirs, the other half went unused. Tilian was using his phone flashlight to navigate, shimmery gray cobwebs and sheets of dust reflecting back onto them. Jon followed a few paces behind, staring at Tilian’s back so as to not get lost.

Their footsteps echoed throughout what Jon supposed was a former backstage area, with high ceilings and many hallways, though much of the space was boarded up and filled with junk. Presumably, the owners were using it for storage—old wooden stage sets and two-by-fours lined the walls. Even these piles of refuse were nigh indiscernible due to a thick layer of dust, so it was safe to assume that nobody had been back here in a long, long time.

Jon pulled the sleeves of his thick black jacket over his hands, and adjusted the hood over his face. Glancing forward, he saw Tilian had unraveled his own sweatshirt’s sleeves. Jon guessed the owners were just being as cost-conscious as possible by not running the heating. His nose even felt cold. Winter tours sucked.

Tilian paused near the entrance of a dark hallway. He looked back at Jon, apparently confirming the latter’s presence. Jon mused internally that Tilian looked pretty goofy when lit from below from the flashlight. His proportions appeared hauntingly reversed, like in a horror movie. Tilian quietly cleared his throat, apparently aware that Jon had already begun to space out as he did. He gestured towards a nearby door that had been propped open with a brick, allowing them access. Jon stepped over and, using his sleeve, wiped heavy dust off the sign next to the handle. “Greenroom”.

Jon nodded, stepping in front of Tilian to grab the door handle. The door opened further without a peep, and the two slipped in carefully. Jon made sure to test the lock before kicking the brick out and pulling the door shut. Dying in a locked room inside of an abandoned building was not high on his list of to-dos. But privacy was important.

Jon turned around to get a grasp of his surroundings. Like the rest of the building, the walls were stacked cinderblocks, painted a dark gray color. Mirrors lined the walls, with counters at waist height. Tubs of costumes sat in the corner, with more hung up on long coatracks lining the room. It was almost pitch-black, except for a thin emergency LED light strip running on the edge of the countertops.

Tilian was leaning on a counter on the opposite side of the room, long legs stuck far out in front of him, his flashlight turned off. He gazed passively at his phone screen.

“Ten forty-five. We should be good. The guys won’t be back until at least one.”

Jon nodded, stepping towards him. He pulled his own phone out to make sure it was on silent. Last time they did this, Will called them to ask if they wanted to go out drinking with the other band they were touring with. The sound of his phone’s default ringtone echoing through that bathroom stall still haunted him. The last thing they needed was to get caught.

Slipping his phone into his back pocket, Jon knelt down in front of Tilian, eager to just get it over with. Tilian looked down at him past his phone in surprise.

“What, no pomp and circumstance? No ‘how was your day’, no ‘how did you feel about the show’?” He smiled cheekily. He clearly knew he was being an ass.

Jon rolled his eyes. “Watch what you’re saying, man. I’m in prime nut-punching position.” He rolled his sleeves back up.

Tilian set his phone down, chuckling softly. “Whatever dude, I’m just trying to lighten the mood. Don’t act like you don’t wanna be here.”

Jon unzipped Tilian, grumbling meanwhile. He knew Tilian couldn’t see his expression in the dim light, so he made a faux-disgusted face up at him. He had to get his little victories somewhere.

Tilian was already a little hard, obviously excited for what has become routine for them. He couldn’t see it, but Jon knew Tilian was likely already a bit red in the face. For someone who puts on such a confident persona onstage, he melts as soon as he gets the least bit emotional.

Jon took his cock into his hand, starting with soft, slow strokes. Tilian exhaled sweetly, putting a hand on Jon’s head, pushing back his hood and playing with his dark curls. As Tilian’s hardon grew, Jon moved his hand down towards his pelvis and took the tip into his mouth. He worked the shaft with his hand, slowly moving his mouth further down.

Tilian let out a quiet moan. He pulled lightly on Jon’s hair in response. Jon felt his face grow hot.

_It was totally casual._

Jon pulled his hands away from Tilian’s cock, forcing more of it into his mouth. One hand grabbed hard at Tilian’s thigh for support. Tilian, at this point, was covering his mouth with his hand, taking quick, shallow, muffled breaths. His body was pleasantly warm against Jon’s. Pre was leaking down Jon’s chin, down his short scruff.

_Gross._

Jon increased his pace, knowing Tilian was close. Tilian held tightly to Jon’s hair, roughly pushing and pulling him in accordance. He thrust forward slightly, seemingly unconsciously. Suddenly, he bucked a little too hard, hitting Jon in the back of his throat. Jon moaned involuntarily, the wind getting knocked out of him, making him tear up at the pain. He was suddenly aware of his own erection in his pants.

“S-sorry,” Tilian nervously chuckled out. Still left with Tilian’s cock in his mouth, Jon furrowed his brow and angrily squeezed Tilian’s thigh hard in response. Tilian let out a sharp breath, coming suddenly. Jon pulled away immediately, but not untouched; he spit out some cum onto the floor and wiped a bit from his face. He begrudgingly put his hand up to stroke Tilian’s cock through the rest of his orgasm. Tilian let out a contented sigh.

“I told you man, not in the mouth. It’s fucking gross.” Jon spit again, and leaned back until he sat cross-legged in front of Tilian. After a minute of shaky breaths, and getting his pants back on, Tilian slid down, his legs on either side of Jon.

“It was an accident, I swear. You got me by surprise!” Tilian fanned himself with the collar of his sweatshirt. Even if it _was_ pretty cold back here, he was a bit sweaty from the effort of the BJ; his face was still quite flushed. He gave Jon a toothy smile.

“Yeah, sure, whatever you say, man,” Jon scoffed sarcastically. His hardon was a little distracting. As much as he would like that taken care of, he didn’t want to admit that he got turned on just from sucking dick. He pulled the bottom of his jacket over his crotch. “We should head back soon, anyway.” This was a simple transaction, and it was done—no need to stick around any longer than necessary.

Tilian nodded in agreement. Seemingly recovered, he stood up slowly. He then extended his hand towards Jon to help him up. Jon graciously took the assistance, careful to keep his jacket pulled low with his other hand.

Jon walked forward to open the door, reaching for the handle. Tilian then grabbed his shoulder, pulling him back sharply. Jon flipped his head around to chide Tilian for being a random dick, but stopped short when he heard squeaky wheels echoing down the hallway. It sounded, to his best guess, like a janitor’s wheeled mop bucket.

 _Shit_.

Tilian grabbed Jon’s sleeve, pulling him sharply towards the corner of the room. Jon stumbled after him, leaping over the tubs of costumes, behind the coatracks into a small alcove of free floor space. Tilian climbed over, but caught his foot on the edge of the tub, falling right onto Jon. Jon let out a whisper-cry of pain from having that much muscle land on him at once. Tilian threw his hand over Jon’s mouth to muffle the sound. There wasn’t much space to move around in, but Tilian adjusted his position so as to not be completely lying on Jon, then lay still to listen, facing away from Jon. They appeared to be perfectly hidden from the doorway, shrouded in the darkness and dusty clothes, but they were chancing being seen if someone saw them with the lights on.

Of course, beneath Tilian’s hand and his bulk, Jon didn’t have the chance to tell the other man that one: he couldn’t breathe too well at the moment, and two: Tilian had placed his knee in the precarious position of pushing right into Jon’s dick. His other leg was holding down one of Jon’s arms, and his free arm held down his other. Jon let out a huff through his nose, but evidently this wasn’t enough to get Tilian’s attention. He flushed red in the darkness, wriggling to try and get out from underneath Tilian.

Squeaky footsteps sounded outside the door. The muffled sound of a man’s voice was heard from the hallway.

“Yeah girl, I’m almost done with my shift. I’m leaving through the back,” muttered a laid-back, croaky voice. “I’ll meet you in five? Smoke a doobie?” An indistinct voice crackled from the other end of a phone call. The plastic wheels of the bucket rumbled quietly, closing in on the door, until suddenly clattering, followed quickly by the sound of splashing water.

“Oh—shit... that wasn’t there last night. Or maybe I moved it. I don’t really know. Whatever. Now I have to mop this shit up. Gimme another five, hon.” Tilian mouthed a ‘ _holy shit_ ’, still gazing at the door, seemingly totally unaware of what was going on underneath him, blinded by anxiety. Jon exhaled sharply once more, feeling himself getting warmer; his wriggling was only forcing more friction and pressure against his dick, which was getting painfully hard. Tilian obviously wasn’t getting the message.

Jon figured he might as well try _something_ if he wanted to breathe anytime soon. He opened his mouth and gave Tilian’s palm a gratuitous lick. Jon noted that he tasted pretty salty, likely from sweating so bad earlier. Tilian, mouth wide open in silent shock, lifted up both his hands above Jon. Jon took a deep breath, and simultaneously decided to fuck with Tilian a little in revenge. Using his free hand, Jon grabbed Tilian’s now-moist hand towards his mouth, wrapping it around two of Tilian’s fingers. Jon held fiercely onto Tilian’s wrist, despite the other’s attempts to pull back, sucking and licking his fingers up and down. Super gross, but worth the look of confusion and disgust on Tilian’s face. Jon was a little surprised to find it kind of hot, too.

Tilian gave Jon a look of minor fury, and pointed towards the door. The handle was rattling.

Tilian laid low, flattening on top of Jon, hand still in his mouth, forcing out the last of the latter’s air. The door clicked, and opened, but neither of them could see what was happening. The lights stayed off. A long, painful pause pressed even more heavily on the pair than Tilian on Jon.

“Huh. Nothing, I guess,” came the croaky voice once more.

Then, mercifully, the door shut. Plastic wheels rumbled down the opposite end of the hallway. A faraway door clicked open, then closed. Then silence.

Tilian lifted himself up quickly onto his knees, eliciting a pained inhalation from the newly-released Jon. Tilian also managed to remove his hand from Jon’s mouth, though at this point, it was quite slimy, due to a combination of air deprivation and intense marination time. After coughing up several lungs, Jon sat up, and grabbed Tilian by the shoulders. He was drooling a little. Tilian was holding his hand to his chest, attempting to calm his fried nerves, and gave the other man a dirty look.

“Til… Tilian. This is important,” Jon muttered, “really important—”

Tilian cut him off. “We almost got caught, Jon! Whatever stupid bullshit you’re gonna say, I don’t wanna hear it. Jesus Christ. That was weird.”

“No, no, it’s—it’s,” Jon gestured towards the door with a nod, “now that he’s gone, can you please, please, fuck me in the ass. I’m serious.” In accordance, he was making quite the serious expression.

Tilian’s face shifted from annoyance to further irritation, his brow low and his lips tight. “Are you for real? I just came, dude. And I didn’t bring any condoms. And we’ve only done that once, so who knows what might happen. I could hurt you. It’s a no-go.”

“No, no, for real! Yes! Just use your fingers, like last time. I promise it’s fine,” he pulled his hands together as if in prayer, and squeezed his eyes shut tight. “I’ll do what you really want next time, okay? Fuck,” he whined.

Tilian rolled his eyes, unseen in the darkness, and sighed heavily. “Fine, fine—but you really _are_ going to do what I want next time?”

“Yeah, for sure.”

Tilian acquiesced, leaning back to sit on his heels. Jon leaned back, laying flat on the floor, pumping his fists up in victory. Tilian took advantage of the position, pulling Jon towards him, spreading his legs to Tilian’s sides. It was somewhat of an awkward position, but it’d work for now. He pulled Jon’s joggers and briefs down past his knees, carefully avoiding his obvious erection. Tilian glanced up; due to his lowered position and the movement, Jon ended up becoming bundled underneath the layers of his jacket, hiding his mouth and exposing some inches of his soft midriff. Tilian thought it looked kinda cute. Only kinda.

_Totally casual._

Tilian lifted Jon’s legs up and scooched in between his knees and his torso, then let them down, effectively locking Tilian closer to Jon. Jon let out a soft sigh.

“Patience,” Tilian whispered. Jon grumbled in response. Tilian reached into a pocket of his jeans, pulling out a small bottle of lube. Sometimes, you need a little extra help to get things going smoothly.

Tilian rolled the bottle between his hands to warm it up. He then applied it heavily to his fingers. Using his other hand, he pushed one of Jon’s legs to the side, while holding the rest of him still. He probed the outside of Jon’s hole for a short moment, then gently slid his forefinger in. Jon shivered, bringing a sleeved hand to his mouth. His back arched up off the floor, and he started clenching the muscles in his legs, squeezing on Tilian’s sides.

“It’s cold,” came a muffled whisper.

“You’ll live,” Tilian mumbled, putting more of his finger in, slowly working Jon’s hole, hoping to get him to relax enough. He really wanted to be gentle; last time, they went way too fast, and Jon was in so much pain after, he kept saying he was going to die (obviously, he didn’t). Which was more annoying than anything, but was still something to be avoided.

After applying more lube, Tilian squeezed in his middle finger. Surprised at the silence in response, Tilian looked up to see Jon biting the sleeve of his jacket, his eyes screwed shut. Jon was still too anxious to really get anywhere, ironically, even if he was the one who wanted this. Tilian slowly stroked Jon’s thigh with his other hand in an attempt to calm him down.

“Hey, come on,” Tilian said softly, “I’m being really gentle. Relax.” Jon let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and calmed his tightened muscles. This gave Tilian the chance to get the rest of his middle finger in, and increase his pace. Jon reached down to stroke his own cock.

After his initial apprehension, Jon was doing great: Tilian’s fingers were blessedly long enough to hit his prostate, sending jolts of arousal through his body. He bucked against Tilian’s fingers, moaning through the cloth of his jacket.

Tilian started thrusting his fingers in more roughly, using Jon’s hip in his other hand as support. Jon whined softly, stroking his cock faster in response. Tilian squeezed Jon’s thigh, pulling him closer. He heard a small gasp from Jon, and glanced up to see the latter’s brows furrowed, mouth slightly open, body curled up towards Tilian. He was making some lethargic attempt to catch it in his hand, but most of his cum ended up over his stomach. He flopped back down, arms wide, with a sigh. Tilian pulled out his hand and did his best to wipe it off on the coat hung near his side. He was gonna pretend for now that he didn’t just stick it up Jon’s ass.

Lying there, spent, with his dick out and cum all over his stomach, Jon looked ridiculous, as far as Tilian could discern. He grabbed a shirt from one of the tubs and wiped Jon up, tossing it into the darkness behind them.

His thoughts might have been swayed by the afterglow, but Jon thought that was incredibly tender. He groaned when he realized what just went through his head. He pulled his pants up, and pulled himself over to sit. He turned his eyes up to face Tilian’s, who was staring right at him, though apparently not very consciously. Upon meeting Jon’s eyes, Tilian blinked and looked away.

Tilian stood up deliberately. “Ready to head back, finally?”

“Sure.”

After peeking through the door one last time, the two stepped out quietly, careful to kick the brick into the room so as to avoid future accidents. They headed in opposite directions without a word, in the hopes nobody will see them come back together and assume the worst.

Tilian headed back the way they came in. Jon shuffled down the dark hallway, the same one as the janitor from before. He pulled out a joint he rolled earlier in the day from his back pocket. It was a bit squished from his recent adventure, but after Jon twisted it out and applied a bit of spit, it was once more fully functional. Opening the back door, Jon lit up, pulling his hood back over his head. A man he presumed was the janitor was chatting loudly with a girl some feet away. They paid him no mind as he took a long rip off the joint and headed to the opposite end of the parking lot towards the tour bus.

He checked his phone. Twelve thirty-two. Perfect timing. Maybe he’d knock out in his bunk before anyone came to harass him. He pinched off the end of the joint upon reaching the bus. After unlocking the door, he flopped down into his bed, tossing the roach into a little wooden box nearby and placing that in a bag at the end of his bed. It was perfect wake and bake material, so he made sure to save it.

He was only mildly high at this point, to his irritation. A combination of his tolerance and the shitty east coast reggie. It was enough to get him to sleep, but he wished he was a little more faded. He pulled off his jacket and T-shirt because they smelled like ass, and threw on a faded band tee as pajamas. After bundling up in his blanket, he opened up his phone for the first time in a few hours. A few new messages from friends back home, some social media story updates he immediately cleared from his notifications, and a text from Matt about an hour prior asking if Jon wanted a beer once they got back. Jon put his phone away and laid, staring, out the window of the tour bus.

He could see Tilian returning from the show building, wiping his hands on his pants. Must have just washed them, Jon guessed. Jon closed his eyes and tried to at least pretend to sleep once Tilian got to the bus. He didn’t necessarily desire that awkward conversation.

Tilian carefully opened the door of the bus, closing it as quietly as he could. He immediately spotted the shape of Jon lying in his bed.

“You awake?” Tilian whispered. No response.

“Well… anyway, thanks again for tonight man. I appreciate it.”

Jon just kept his eyes closed. He could hear Tilian undressing and putting on his PJs. He suddenly felt a hand on his head, causing him to flinch a little. Tilian quickly ruffled Jon’s hair, then returned to his own bunk. Total silence, aside from Tilian’s soft breathing.

Jon opened his eyes again. He stared into the barren parking lot. Crisp beacons of light, dusted with flakes of light snow, dotted the asphalt like oases in a desert. He closed his eyes again, intent to sleep. Underneath his comforter, Jon’s hand played with the neckline of his tee. He was trying to let his mind sink into the high, but the anxious thoughts kept pulling him back up to painful awareness. And behind his closed eyes, all he could see was Tilian’s stupid smile in front of him.

 _Fuck_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final apology for this existing. I've neverrrr written fic before, much less a RPF, so if you have any suggestions for corrections on writing style or characterization just let me know. I appreciate any feedback. thank u love u bye.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tilian wants to try something new. It takes a little bit of work.

Every _click_ of Jon’s lighter was met by a gust of wind and flurry of snowflakes, suffocating the flame and keeping him from his smoke. Hands shaking slightly in the cold, even attempting to protect the flame with a sleeved palm caught no fire. Jon slammed the his hand down in frustration, eliciting a small _clang_ from the side of the tour bus colliding with the butt of his lighter. Tim, who had been unseen in the doorway, leaped off the steps of the tour bus in surprise, like a startled cat. He was wearing a few layers of sweaters and a beanie, but he clearly wasn’t prepared for the weather. His teeth chattered loudly.

“Oh, h-hey Jon… why don’t you c-come inside? It’s cold as f-fuck out here,” Tim emphasized this by hugging himself and rubbing his arms for warmth.

Jon grinned at him from underneath his hoodie. “I guess I should, huh? Cha boy ain’t gonna get his smoke on in this fucking weather.”

Tim smiled and nodded slightly, wiping off his glasses. Small flakes of snow kept collecting on the lenses. Jon pocketed his blunt and followed him onto the tour bus. Music was playing from a Bluetooth speaker somewhere, but it was indiscernible over the sound of the heating inside the bus. Tim bundled up in a comforter next to Andrew on the small leather couch they had towards the front of the bus. He joined him in watching a video on Andrew’s phone.

They just finished a set, so everyone was exhausted. Will had seemingly already passed out, snoring quietly on his bunk in the back. Matt sat on the opposite end of the couch from Tim and Andrew, listening to music on his phone, miming a drumming pattern with his eyes closed. Tilian was nowhere to be found. Jon shuffled past them to grab some water, honey, and a tea bag from a cabinet behind the couch. He went a little hard tonight and needed the calming touch of some motherfuckin’ Celestial Seasonings.

Jon went to sit on his bunk with his tea. He pulled out his phone to see a recent Snapchat message from Tilian. Upon opening it, he found the only contents were a sticker of the other man’s Bitmoji luxuriating in a tub. Jon rolled his eyes. He sent a sticker back of his Bitmoji looking sad in a taco costume, smiled to himself, and closed the app. He opened up Instagram to take in his puppy- and kitten-filled feed. Warm tea, baby animals, and a soft bed were all he needed in this moment. He lost track of time scrolling through his feed.

And then, he got another message from Tilian. A single question mark. Jon finished his tea and started typing back.

“not really feelin it tbh”

Tilian’s Bitmoji popped up, indicating he was typing.

“You said last time you would do what I wanted tho”

“im tireddddddddd :(“

“You’re always tired”

“maybe so”

“It’s been like two weeks. Come on”

“whatever”

“There’s a bar a block away. Next to the BP. Fuckton of people. Lots of bathrooms”

“i hate bathrooms”

“Me too. But it’s our best shot for today”

Jon sent a sticker of his Bitmoji looking incredulous.

“ill be there soon. if they find my corpse frozen to the highway tell them i was on a noble mission. to suck dick”

“Uh-huh”

Jon hopped out of bed. Matt had passed out on the couch meanwhile, and Tim was dozing off to whatever they were watching, head laid on Andrew’s shoulder.

“I lost my keys. I’m gonna check the venue. Be back whenever.”

Andrew nodded, pulling the comforter over himself further. “Just be back soon. It’s cold, you know.”

“Yeah, I do.”

Jon slipped out of the tour bus, pulled up his hood, and started off towards the venue. He gazed up at the glowing BP sign a few buildings down. Snowflakes glittered past its round ambiance. His lighthouse guiding him to the shore of Tilian’s dick.

Jon shoved his hands in his pockets for warmth. He found the blunt from earlier, and popped it in his mouth. He tried lighting it up again, this time with success; it appeared the wind had died down somewhat. He took a long drag and smiled. Now _this_ was some good weed. Super smooth, with a tangy aftertaste. He still had no idea why people would bother living in the Midwest because of this weather, but at least they had good bud. Of course, nothing like back home, but good enough.

After a grueling twenty minute trudge through the half-inch of snow on the sidewalk, Jon finally found what he figured was the bar, the BP sign standing ominously above him. It really _was_ a huge place. It was two stories high, filled to burst with people all looking to have a good time. A big neon sign buzzed above the entrance, “ _Jeb’s Joint_ ”. Jon chuckled. He flicked away the butt of his blunt. He squeezed past the overflowing patrons at the entrance, keeping his head low.

He pushed past the crowd towards the bar in the back. The place reeked of smoke, whiskey, and B.O., its wooden floors creaking with every slight movement of the crowd. Dusty photos of ancient sports stars and local news hosts lined the walls, bordered by framed jerseys for teams Jon didn’t recognize. A real classy place. Jon kept catching his sneakers on uneven floorboards and other people’s clumsy ankles. He pushed hard past the last bulwark of human bodies, popping through, his hip colliding hard into a stool riveted to the floor in front of the bar. He massaged the impact point with his hand, groaning. His already-achy joints definitely didn’t need that.

Jon sat down in the stool and waved down the barkeep, then ordered a local IPA in a can. Midwesterners loved IPAs, so it should be at least a little worthwhile. He believed it made them feel slightly less shitty for not being on a real coast.

“I’m not getting anything else, so just close my tab,” Jon had to yell for the bartender to hear him over the crowd. She nodded, running his card and handing it back to him. Jon cracked open the can, looking around as inconspicuously as he could for Tilian. The IPA was okay. Maybe not worth the six bucks, though.

After waiting some fifteen minutes, and downing most of the can, Jon swiveled around to try and peer into the crowd. Of course, Tilian was nowhere. Jon shot him a message on Snapchat, just a “ _here_ ”. Maybe Jon went to the wrong place? There wasn’t any other gas station or bar in the area anyway. There wasn’t a lot of room for error. He finished the can.

Jon squeezed through the crowd towards the bathrooms to take a leak. He had a high tolerance, but the combination of the weed and the beer made him a little wobbly, so he stumbled a bit on his path to the back of the building. All the bathrooms were down a long hallway, which was weirdly barren. Oddly enough, some of the bathrooms were single-occupancy. No wonder Tilian wanted to come here.

_This is like a cover for some kind of fucked up sex dungeon, isn’t it?_

Jon tried one of the doors, to unsurprisingly find it occupied. He went down to the next one, and the next one, and so on; all occupied. His phone suddenly vibrated, and he pulled it up to see a Snap from Tilian. It was a photo Snap, weirdly.

Jon pulled himself into a discrete corner at the end of the hallway to see the picture. He figured it was going to be a picture of where Tilian was, so nobody else needed to see that. Upon opening it, though, Jon’s face immediately felt hot. It was a photo of Tilian, to be sure, taken in the mirror of one of these bathrooms; Jon could tell based on the shitty wood paneling and sports photos in the background. Tilian had a self-satisfied expression, with lowered brows and a wide smile. He had lifted his shirt up, exposing his toned abs and chest, and unzipped his jeans. He’d strategically positioned his cock in his boxer briefs as to accentuate it above the open zipper.

Without thinking, Jon screenshot it immediately.

_Why did I do that? Wait, shit. This is Snapchat._

Obviously, Tilian was aware of this. He sent a sticker of his Bitmoji laughing. Humiliating. His Bitmoji at the bottom showed him typing.

“Wowwwwwwww :)”

“IT WAS AN ACCIDENT OK”

“Yeah, right. Last door on the right”

Jon grumbled, still flushed, and knocked on the door nearby.

“It’s me. You ass.”

Jon heard a _clunk_ , the door opening, and saw Tilian giggling through the crack. Jon noted that he’d zipped his pants back up.

“Me? _The_ ass? I wasn’t the one who just screenshot that pic.”

“ _You_ were the one who sent it. Let me in. I have to piss,” Jon whispered, through clenched teeth.

Tilian opened it slightly further, allowing Jon to slip in. Jon glanced outside for a moment, to make sure nobody was around. It looked like the coast was clear. He closed the door and locked it behind him.

“Okay, turn around. It feels weird to have someone stare when I pee,” Jon muttered. “Once I’m done we can get this over with.”

“Okay, okay,” Tilian chuckled, hands up. He faced the corner opposite Jon and looked down at his phone. After finishing up, Jon washed his hands. He came up behind Tilian without saying a word, and grabbed the sides of the latter’s head with still-wet hands.

“It’s piss! Piss hands!” He grinned evilly, cackling.

“OH my god!” Tilian shouted in shock, ducking out of the way, slipping and almost falling on the slick bathroom floor. He wiped his face with the sleeves of his jacket. “What is _wrong_ with you?!”

Jon smirked and flicked the rest of the excess water in Tilian’s direction, causing the latter to flinch. “Lots of things,” he wiped his hands on his pants. “It’s water, asshole.”

“Sure,” Tilian nervously replied, fixing his hair. He leaned his back to the wall, facing Jon.  “Anyway, come here,” he said, unzipping his jacket and throwing it to the other end of the room.

Jon pulled his jacket off, down to just his T-shirt as well. Tilian undid his zipper, pulling his dick out. Jon thought it quite forthright. He motioned to lean down, but Tilian stopped him with his hand. Jon looked up, confused, lips tight. He stood back up in front of Tilian.

“No, no, hold on,” he muttered, pulling Jon closer. Tilian unzipped Jon’s jeans as well, grabbing his cock roughly. Jon let out a sharp breath, and looked nervously up at Tilian.

“What _exactly_ are we doing?” Jon pulled himself closer to Tilian, their chests touching. Jon grabbed at the sides of the other man’s T-shirt, looking down at whatever Tilian was attempting. The latter had pulled out his bottle of lube, and thickly coated both their cocks. They were both warming up, Jon letting out another careful breath. Tilian then took both of their cocks into his hand, gently squeezing and stroking them together. Jon let out a small moan, and found himself having to stand forward as far as he could on his toes; Tilian’s few inches of height advantage meant only a portion of his dick was getting covered. He held tightly onto Tilian’s T-shirt for support. He could feel the other man’s breathing pick up in accordance.

Tilian noticed this, and tried to pull Jon closer; unsatisfied, he used his free hand to grab under Jon’s thigh, and lifted him up. As strong as he was, though, he was struggling to support Jon with just one arm. Meanwhile, he kept stroking, slowly and tightly.

“L… loop your arms around my neck. I, I can hold you up.”

Jon breathed in sharply, swallowing. He nodded, looking behind Tilian, not meeting the latter’s eyes. He wrapped his arms around Tilian’s neck, finally reaching enough height to where their cocks were equally leveled. He stood the furthest he could on the balls of his feet. He felt Tilian’s warm breath on his neck and ear, making him shiver. Jon felt his skin tingle at the contact.

Tilian worked them both slowly, building up a rhythm. Jon found himself bucking against Tilian, desperate for more friction. He grabbed hard at Tilian’s sides, moaning softly into Tilian’s shoulder. Tilian let out a small breath, freeing his hand from Jon’s leg, placing it on Jon’s head.

The latter was breathing short, shallow breaths. Tilian could feel his sweat soaking through his own T-shirt.

“T-Til… can—can you go a bit faster?” Jon whined between breaths. “I’m c, close.”

Tilian could feel Jon shaking against his chest. He couldn’t tell whether his or Jon’s heart was racing faster. He grunted in response and picked up his pace. He grabbed Jon’s hair and held his head closer to him. The feeling of having Tilian’s warm face and body so close to Jon’s made the latter overwhelmed, his breath caught in his throat. A few more strokes, a rough squeeze, and Jon came with a gasp.

Tilian bit his lip, and kept on stroking through Jon’s orgasm, coming to it himself in a few moments. He ran his fingers through Jon’s hair for a few moments, as the two stood to catch their breaths. Jon released himself from Tilian’s neck. He rubbed at his hip and lower back in pain. Tilian slid down the wall to a sitting position.

“Fuck,” Jon mumbled, trying to wipe at his sweaty face with his tee. Which was of course just as sweaty as the rest of him, so it was in vain.

“You okay?” Tilian wiped his brow with his arm, looking at Jon in concern.

“Yeah, just fell on it earlier. It’s the Lyme, mostly,” Jon replied, not meeting Tilian’s eye.

“Oh. Okay.”

A pause.

“Are they gonna kick us out for being in here so long?”

“As far as I could tell, no. Only if you’re shooting up, I guess.”

“Baller.”

Jon pulled his pants back on and went to the sink to clean up. He met his eyes in the mirror and saw a reddened, haggard gaze staring back.

_Jesus, I look like shit._

He washed his face and hands, and threw his jacket back on. He fixed his hair as best he could. It had reached a length where the curls were a bit uncontrollable. He supposed he needed a cut soon. His mind drifted to Tilian grabbing at it roughly, as he had just done, it perhaps being easier if his hair was just a bit longer. He shook his head to try and clear the thought.

Tilian watched Jon as the latter fidgeted in the mirror.

“How did you like that?” Tilian mused. “I thought of it the other day and really wanted to try it.”

“That was okay. The geometry of it was fucked up, though. Not really worth it to just get off, you know what I mean?”

Tilian nodded. “Yeah, for sure,” he said, and looked up vaguely at the photos on the walls. For some reason, deep in his mind, Tilian wanted a different response, but he wasn’t sure what that was supposed to be. They both got off, so what was the deal? Wasn’t that the whole point of this? A ball of anxiety stirred up inside him. His face flushed hot with embarrassment, but for what, he didn’t know.

Tilian stood to clean up at the sink as well. Jon leaned against the wall and checked his phone, other hand in his pocket. No notifications. It was getting pretty late though. He gazed at the cat on his lock screen.

“I told the guys I was looking for shit in the venue. It might not be weird if we both head back at the same time, then,” Jon said, “as long as I say you helped me find my keys.”

“Alright. I’ll head out first, though. I wanna grab a Coke from the bar. I’m kinda thirsty.”

“I’m sure,” Jon scoffed. “I’ll meet you at the venue, then.”

Tilian nodded, grabbing his jacket. He glanced at Jon for a moment, then unlocked the door and stepped out. Jon locked the door behind him, standing still to the sound of thumping music from the main room of the bar. Was it that loud this whole time? Did he really not notice until now?

He heard Tilian’s steps down towards the bar. Jon looked down at his phone again. He pulled open his Camera Roll. He stared placidly at the photo of Tilian. He closed the app and put his phone away.

Jon unlocked the door and stepped out, slipping past a man who rushed in after him, slamming the door shut. Jon felt kind of bad for almost letting the poor guy piss himself. Jon headed down the hallway away from the main room, towards a glowing red “Exit” sign.

_It’s the same as before, huh._

The snow had started to really pick up. A good two inches covered the ground, and thick flakes fell heavily, quickly dampening Jon’s hood. His sneakers quickly became quite cold and wet as well. He rushed back towards the venue. He took the long way around the lot to avoid the line of sight from the bus.

Jon plowed into the side entrance, followed by a flurry of snowflakes. He slammed the doors shut loudly behind him. Tilian sat, waiting, on a short stairway some feet away, and waved at Jon when he came in. The side hall was totally deserted, thankfully. Tilian came up to Jon and wiped some snow off his jacket. Jon rolled his eyes.

“Thanks. Helping. Not like I’m going right back out there.”

Tilian pulled Jon’s hood over his eyes in annoyance. He then held the door open for the other man.

“Come on.”

Back on the tour bus, everyone had already gone to bed, except for Andrew, who lay on the couch, reading a book. He laid it on his chest and looked back and forth between Jon and Tilian as they stepped back through the bus.

“You find your keys, man?” Andrew whispered. He appeared non-judgmental, as far as Jon could tell.

“Yeah. Tilian was back there, he helped,” Jon replied. Tilian waved at Andrew, then stepped past Jon to his bunk. “They actually ended up in a snow drift outside the venue, so we ran around the place like assholes before finding them.”

“So that explains why you were gone for like, almost two hours. I was starting to get worried.”

“Uh-huh. Appreciate the concern. Is our driver awake? Are we heading out soon?” Jon wiggled out of his jacket. It was soaked.

“I think so. Let me check,” Andrew reached over to the driver’s cubicle and jostled their chauffeur, a friend of theirs from back home, awake. Jon walked back to his bunk. He heard Tim grumble nearby, clearly only half-awake.

“Two hours? Really guys? Remind me not to ask you two for help if _I_ lose anything. Jesus christ.”

“Fuck off, man,” Jon whispered. The bus started up just as Jon slid into bed. He gazed out his window, watching snow collect on the ground and trees surrounding the lot. He pulled his pillow over his head, squeezed his eyes shut, and willed himself to sleep as hard as he could.

This long day was finally over.

 

* * *

* * *

 

Meanwhile, Tilian was lying in bed as well. He had on his sleep playlist and his earphones in and everything, but he just couldn’t rest. His mind couldn’t stop racing.

Maybe all this _was_ a bad idea. It started out accidentally, innocently even, but now it felt like they were hanging off a precipice. Tilian’s chest ached with anxiety.

For Tilian, this long day was going to continue on for a little while longer. He only passed out around sunrise.

Another chilly Midwestern city, another shitty cold day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk what the inside of a tour bus looks like if I'm gonna be honest. Also this isn't an ad for Snapchat /_\


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where all this shit started, and where it feels like everything ended.

Jon was already faded out of his mind when Will told him Tilian was fucked up at the bar. To be fair, all of them were well past the point of sobriety. The other groups they were touring with were well-equipped to live up to the band’s reputation as a “party band”. Jon had already taken some ecstasy yesterday, thrown up on the side of the road, painfully recovered consciousness from that trip, and now was so baked he could barely walk straight.

The sticky Florida heat was frying his brain even further. He had his long-sleeved shirt (he thought it would at least cool down slightly by the evening—it was winter, after all) tied around his waist, his tank top sticking to his chest. He pulled his phone out of his jean shorts' pocket and tried multiple times to unlock it before giving up. He knew he had to somehow find Tilian and get him back to the tour bus.

He brushed past Will, slapping him on the shoulder with a grunt of affirmation. He heard Will mumble a garbled “ _Thanks, man_ ” as he walked past.

Jon knew to just follow the track lights to the bar. He recalled that’s where he got a beer earlier. Though at this point he forgot where that beer had gone, or if he even drank it at all.

Jon muttered several “ _’scuse me”_ s as he tried to gently push past the other musicians and bar patrons. He recognized the guitarist and bassist for their openers to his side. “Hold on guys, I gotta get to the bar. You seen Tilian? He okay?”

The bassist brushed his long bangs out of his face. “Sorry dude, haven’t seen him. He’s been sticking to himself all tonight, I think.” The guitarist nodded in agreement.

“Fuck. Okay. Thanks,” Jon squeezed past them to get closer to the bar. He finally pushed through, spotting a man with his head in his arms on the bar, his back facing Jon, having sweat through a thin, floral-patterned collared shirt. Definitely Tilian. Jon apprehensively put his hand on Tilian’s shoulder. The other man shifted slightly, but didn’t look up at him.

“Tilian—hey, Tilian, it’s me, Jon. You good?” Jon mumbled. Jon swayed slightly. He already forgot why he came up to the bar. He racked his brain for a good moment, before remembering it had something to do with Tilian, who was also, serendipitously, sitting in front of him. God, was he fucked up.

Tilian turned his head towards Jon, peering out from over his bicep. He stared at him vaguely.

“I’m,” _hic_ , “I’m okay. I just, just, um. I can’t really, I don’t know, if I can get,” _hic_ , “back to the bus on, on my own,” he said, barely audibly. He frowned, and met Jon’s eye with his one.

“Hey! Hey, that’s okay man. I got you,” Jon waved down the bartender to make sure Tilian’s tab was closed. His memory again lapsed him for a moment before gazing down at Tilian’s miserable little grimace.

_Right. Bus. Get Tilian to bus._

He got Tilian to sign off his tab and slipped his card into his front pocket. Jon pulled on Tilian’s arm, draping it over his own shoulder, in an attempt to get him up. Tilian stepped forward off the stool, nearly falling completely onto Jon. Jon almost collapsed under Tilian’s bulk, but managed to get him up enough to stand more steadily on two feet. He’d never been this physical with his co-singer, and he wasn’t coping well with it. The combination of Tilian’s incredibly warm and heavy drunkenness and the swampy humidity was making it quite the task.

“Lean on me,” Jon said, “I’m not gonna be able to drag you back.”

“Okay, okay,” Tilian replied, wiping his eyes. He laid his right arm over Jon’s shoulders, leaning on him quite heavily. Jon then eyed the doorway. That was his singular goal.

_Door. Get to door._

He stepped towards that direction, hoping for the crowd to clear, Tilian slowly following. After a few steps, Tilian gripped Jon’s shoulder suddenly.

“I, I think,” _hic_ , “I might be sick… ”

“Oh, shit, okay,” Jon whipped his head around, looking for some form of side entrance or bathroom for them to slip through. He saw a green “ _Exit_ ” sign above a doorway to their left; the pathway towards it was mostly clear. Jon slipped out from underneath Tilian, rushing to his other side, nearly causing the latter to fall, then grabbed his left arm. He pulled him roughly towards the door, and started running. Tilian stumbled clumsily after him, being held up only by the other man’s pulling his arm.

Jon pushed the door open, pulling Tilian through after him. Jon tripped on a stoop situated right outside the door, falling hard, releasing Tilian’s hand in the process. The door slammed shut behind them. Tilian stumbled forward to the opposite wall, steadying himself before throwing up onto the ground in front of him. Jon pulled himself back up, brushing gravel and dirt out of his shoulder. He was a bit bloodied, but due to his high, he didn’t feel it at all. He looked towards Tilian, and what was coming out of him, noting that it didn’t look like he ate too much before drinking a fuckton. No wonder he was so sauced.

_Wait, what was I doing? What’s going on?_

Jon’s gaze drifted to the far distance. He was sitting on his ass in the middle of an alley. He was really, really sweaty.

_Hold on. Tilian’s here. Right. Bus._

“Bus!” Jon exclaimed, standing up quickly.

Tilian flinched, coughing. “Ha—whah?” He wiped his mouth, tears run down his cheeks. He hiccupped. Jon thought he looked pretty funny, in a pathetic kind of way.

Jon walked over and extended his arm out for Tilian. Tilian nodded. He once again draped his arm over his shoulder. Jon gripped Tilian under his arm for support.

The two of them headed off towards the tour bus. Tilian was mostly silent, now that his queasiness had decreased. He kept tripping on his way, however. Jon realized this might be due to the couple of inches Tilian had on him. Jon’s mind drifted from there, and he thought about how sticky he was in that moment. He could feel bugs biting his bare legs, but he didn’t want to disturb or even drop Tilian by stopping to swat at them. They very slowly trudged up to the tour bus. Jon helped pull Tilian inside, catching his balance for him.

After locking the doors back up, Jon helped guide Tilian to his bunk. Jon held Tilian’s arms, facing him away from his bed, attempting to steady him. Tilian suddenly leaned back a little too far, falling backwards onto his bunk. Jon, still holding onto Tilian, fell over on top of him.

Jon let go mid-air, attempting to catch himself on something; in his descent, he was suddenly ninety-percent sure he accidentally punched Tilian in the crotch. Tilian yelped in pain and recoiled inwardly. Jon bonked his head on the wall next to Tilian’s bed with a loud _clunk_.

His memory lapsed him again, his ears ringing from the impact, and he looked around dazed, attempting to grasp his sense of place once more. He then glanced at Tilian, who had rolled over onto his side in the pain. Then he realized.

“OHHH my god dude, I’m so sorry, are you okay?” Jon scrambled on the bed into a kneeling position, to face Tilian.

Tilian squeaked out a “ _yeah_ ”, and unfolded steadily. “But, uh… ”

He shyly tried to cover up an erection with his hands. Jon’s eyes went wide.

“Oh, uh, I’m sorry, it’s totally fine, I get it, I’ll just, um,” Jon stuttered, shuffling to get off the bed and avoid the awkwardness creeping up on him.

“H, hold on,” Tilian whispered, grabbing Jon’s arm. “I’m gonna, ah, ask you something really weird. If, if you don’t want to go along with it, fine, we, we can just forget it,” _hic_ , “but I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately, anyway, and… “

Jon was now officially off his gourd. He had a feeling about what Tilian was going to ask him. He was high as hell, he just accidentally punched his fellow band member in the dick, who now has a hardon, and now, he’s gonna ask…

“Uh—”

“Do you wanna, maybe, jer, jerk each other off, or something,” Tilian looked away, blushing a deep red. “You know how, how it is on tour, you get so pent up, you start getting frustrated at ev, everything,” _hic_ , “and get mad, and… I’ve tried, y’know, myself, but it isn’t the same, and… “

_And?_

“… I thought, since, we hang out so much, you might be more okay with it, and all… like I’m not, uh, singling you out, or, or anything, because I have, feelings, or whatever… Because I don’t! Have any. It’s just, you know, you’re single, right now, so you’d be the least opposed, maybe… “

_He’d been thinking about this a lot lately?!_

Jon was obviously unknowingly giving Tilian a look of confusion and shock, because the other man had slowly quieted down as he made his way through the tirade. He looked like he was sobering up the slightest bit, and looked down into his lap. Jon suddenly realized he should close his mouth.

“Um—”

“And I’m not gay! I’m pretty sure. Not that that, would be a bad thing. It’s just, y’know… something casual friends do… “ he muttered, almost imperceptibly, “… get each other off.”

Jon could almost hear the gears turning in his own head. Of course, Jon _did_ understand the argument behind Tilian’s proposal. He wasn’t a stranger to jerking off in gas station bathrooms mid-tour. But doing it to someone else? And a guy? Shit.

Tilian opened his mouth to say something, but closed it quickly enough. He watched Jon patiently. Jon mulled over it silently, his eyes closed.

_Well, I haven’t had sex in a while._

_But it’s Tilian._

_I might like it!_

_You could like it_ way _more than you should._

_It could be fun and relaxing._

_But it’s Tilian._

_So what if it’s Tilian? He already asked me to give him a handjob! The guy has no dignity left._

_Well, it_ is _just Tilian._

And _you’ll get off!_

Jon opened his eyes, placing his hand on Tilian’s knee. Jon swayed a little in the dim light of the bus. A more organized part of his brain at the moment realized that he was too fucked to make proper judgment here. Current, High Jon drowned out that part of his brain with the desire to get off.

_Future Jon’s problem._

“Sure. Just, uh, don’t make it weird. Or mention this later. At all.”

“I’ll do my best,” Tilian exhaled a heavy breath, smiling softly.

“Let me uh, try and, help you out, then… “

Jon scooched closer to Tilian, and shakily reached towards Tilian’s dick. He couldn’t believe he was really doing this.

Tilian helped him by unzipping his pants slowly. Jon looked down at Tilian’s cock under his boxer briefs. Something about how thick and full it looked under the cotton, a wet spot forming near the tip, stirred something deep within Jon. He felt a little warm.

_In retrospect, maybe this was fine?_

Jon realized he’d been staring for a while. He figured he might as well do something. Jon slowly got his hand closer and closer. Tilian held his breath nervously above him. Jon gently touched Tilian’s dick, with as much courage he could muster. He started stroking him through his underwear. Tilian responded with a soft exhale through his nose. Tilian had anxiously bundled the top of his shirt in his fist, holding it to his chest and pulling it up slightly, revealing his midriff. Jon tried not to stare. He wasn’t entirely sure how to do this. He was also kind of scared of directly touching Tilian’s dick. He bit the bullet and pulled Tilian’s underwear down.

He tried not to ogle, but it was difficult to resist. Jon noted that Tilian’s dick didn’t appear to be any bigger than his own.

Ego check: completed.

He took Tilian’s cock fully into his hand and started rubbing it up and down more earnestly. Pre leaked down his hand. Tilian let out a shaky breath.

“You, uh… you’re doing good, okay? Just keep, keep that up,” he mumbled. Jon nodded, and looked up. Tilian was usually pretty reserved, but he hadn’t seen him be this vulnerable before. It felt like something he shouldn’t be privy to. Something about that taboo made his heart race even faster.

In his newfound excitement, a sudden thought crossed Jon’s mind. Like most men at some point in their lives, as he figured, he wondered what it was like to actually suck a dick. He’d received it before, obviously, but never given it. This might be his only opportunity to figure that out, considering Tilian was well past the point of being able to judge Jon’s behavior.

There was only one problem: He had pretty bad cotton mouth. Tilian (and his obvious desperation) was doing a pretty good job of providing lubrication himself, though. Jon figured that if he choked on his dick, that’d be just desserts for the shit he’d just gotten himself into.

_Might as well commit._

Without saying a word, Jon lowered his head onto Tilian’s dick. Per his expectations, it was quite salty. He wasn’t immediately nauseous, so that was a good sign. He took more of his cock into his mouth, bobbing up and down tentatively.

Tilian was totally speechless at this, wordlessly and gently putting his hand on Jon’s head. Jon couldn’t see his face, but Tilian’s body shot up several degrees in temperature as soon as he started. Little breaths and squeaks came out of the larger man, so Jon knew he was doing pretty well. He slid more of Tilian’s cock into his mouth and continued.

All things considered, Jon didn’t think this was entirely terrible. It was pretty fun, even. He pushed down even further, as far as he could go before he started to gag, and went a little faster.

Tilian nodded, letting out a whine in response. He kept his touch light on Jon’s head.

“Kee, keep going,” he breathed, “I’m close… “

Jon started to lose himself in the repetitive motion due to his high. When Tilian came with a gasp, it jostled Jon out of his haze. He felt Tilian squirm around him, and the warmth of his Tilian’s cum in his mouth. Jon sat back up, mouth closed, wiping cum from around his mouth. He didn’t really know what to do with what was in his mouth, as there was nowhere to spit the cum out, so he just swallowed it; he physically cringed at the feel and taste. At least he knew he didn’t like that part of blowjobs. He suddenly felt a great deal of sympathy for his past girlfriends.

He sat on his heels on the bed in a daze, wiping his mouth over and over. His lips felt warm, like they were tingling. He stared off behind Tilian. Tilian had fallen back, breathing hard, covered in a sheen of sweat. Jon couldn’t help but stare.

Tilian swallowed hard. “Thanks, um… that, that was really, really good,” he said quietly.

“Guess I’m just a uh, natural, huh, haha,” Jon responded. He recoiled internally at that. He sounded like a moron. And he didn’t really know how to feel about “naturally” being skilled at sucking dick.

Tilian sat up slowly, scooching closer to Jon. “Is it okay if I return the favor? If, if you want, that is,” he whispered. Now that Jon was closer, he could see how Tilian was still a little buzzed. The alcohol was heavy on his breath.

_Why did he drink so much tonight?_

Jon nodded. “S-sure, I guess.”

Jon kept gazing past Tilian’s shoulder as the latter man shuffled closer, them both rising up to a kneeling position. Tilian gently groped at Jon’s dick before unzipping his shorts with a smooth motion. Jon shivered, grabbing gently at the sleeves of Tilian’s shirt. He felt his own heart pounding in his chest.

Tilian spit into his hand, and slipped Jon’s cock out of his briefs, stroking it gently. Jon bit his lip, resting his head on Tilian’s shoulder. He thrust into Tilian’s hand, letting out quick, shallow breaths. He felt Tilian’s other, warm hand on his hip. Jon was overcome with a warm, fuzzy feeling. He felt like he was floating off, separate from his body, all the while feeling intense warmth and arousal. His skin tingled at Tilian’s touch, at the feel of his warm breath on Jon’s neck. He opened his mouth involuntarily, biting gently into Tilian’s shirt. Tilian was whispering gentle words into his ear, but Jon couldn’t parse them as anything but more soft, warm noise.

Jon came with a small whine and what felt like a burst of energy from his dick. Jon immediately fell back down onto sitting on his heels. Tilian wiped his cum on the outside of his own underwear, for lack of anything else.

“Fuck,” breathed Jon, wiping his brow with his forearm. He saw stars behind his eyes. It took him a good minute to rediscover his physical and mental balance. He felt like he just went through a washing machine.

“Good?”

“Yeah.”

A pause.

“Awesome.”

They sat there in silence, quietly breathing for some time.

Jon decided he needed to get really high and fuck more often. He gazed at Tilian, who was looking downwards, getting his pants back on.

“I—I might be really, really fucked up right now still,” Jon stammered. “Wait, no I am still really fucked up. Like really fucked up. So this may not be a totally uh, the best idea. But is it okay if we do this again? Maybe not soon, but sometime?”

Tilian glanced up at him and grimaced for a slight moment, before returning to a neutral expression. He furrowed his brows. “I was kind of afraid you’d say that.”

“Oh,” Jon felt his breath catch in his throat, and his face go hot. He suddenly felt incredibly self conscious.

Tilian looked away again. “Only because I was gonna ask you the same thing,” Tilian whispered, letting a small grin rise to his face.

Jon swallowed hard. Tilian continued.

“I, I don’t have feelings, like I said, or anything, so I hope you don’t too, otherwise that’d be, weird… it’s just… it’d be convenient, is all. That’s all it is,” he shook his head. “Convenient.”

Jon nodded. “Convenient.”

They sat there in silence, looking at each other. Jon felt his face warm up again, this time in embarrassment.

_Ugh, this is so fucked up._

Tilian cleared his throat. “We should probably, uh. Clean up, before the guys get here.”

“Yeah.”

Jon felt a nervous energy build up inside of him, deep in his stomach. Tilian seemed to read his expression well enough to give him a smile.

“It’ll be fine. Trust me.”

Jon looked up into Tilian’s eyes. He gave a slight smile in return.

“Yeah. I guess so.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some thoughts develop. They smoke some weed. Jon goes a little wild.

Jon breathed a sigh of relief as the tour bus trundled gently off the highway exit. An early morning coolness had seeped over the cabin. They were finally back home. Warm, sunny Sac.

They were going to hit three or four more shows on the tour before settling down for a bit again. Jon was grateful the tour was almost done. He hated this on-the-road shit. Especially since the only thing on his mind lately was getting back into his studio. The week was only halfway over, so he’d have the chance to pop in before they did a show on the weekend. He could feel an energy rising inside him to paint. He had a couple of ideas swimming behind his mind’s eye, itching to be thrown onto a canvas.

They decided to stop off at the recording studio for a day or two to grab more equipment and do some tune-ups. As soon as the bus stopped, Jon hopped off. He bounded around, happy to be back home.

They spent an hour hauling things back and forth from the bus to the studio. The guys wanted to go out for lunch, but Jon quietly declined.

“I have to run home for a while. I’ll let you guys know when I’m free.”

They all nodded and “ _okay_ ”’d in response. Tilian was silent. He gave Jon a soft look, then glanced away.

 

* * *

 

The studio was likely originally intended to be an office or storage floor, a few stories up a multipurpose residential building. It had, since its leasing, had its walls painted a myriad of colors, with temporary furnishings and dividers breaking up the space between artist workspaces. Jon was a little tired from having to run up the stairs. He of course didn’t _need_ to run up them, but he was too excited to be back here.

Jon dropped his backpack onto the floor as soon as he closed the door to the studio behind him. He was totally alone. He breathed in the harsh air of acrylics, oils, and clays lining the floors and walls. Absolute paradise.

He stepped off to his corner of the studio, a little space lined with an office divider that kept his work from prying eyes. A vivid, intense form played behind his eyes; it had been in his head for weeks now, and he knew he had to at least try to get this one out. He pried open his paints and got to work. There was definitely an element of zen to his process. He felt a wave of anxiety flow out of him.

Jon didn’t realize he’d let so much time pass before he noticed his phone had buzzed multiple times. A text from Will, and a few Snapchat messages from Tilian.

Will asked him if he was open to going out for dinner with the rest of the guys. Jon balked. He didn’t really realize he let _that_ much time pass. He looked up at his canvas and sighed in frustration. All that time, with nothing to show for it.

Jon texted Will that he was feeling tired and was going to stay in for the rest of the day. Will sent back a thumbs-up Emoji.

Jon then opened up the messages from Tilian, all within about fifteen minutes from each other, the last only arriving a few moments prior.

“Heyyyyyyyyyy”

“Whatcha up to”

“Wanna hang?”

Jon rolled his eyes. He started typing.

“im working”

He paused after hitting “enter”.

“nobodys here tho. you can come to the studio”

Tilian was typing.

“Really? Wow. Where’s it at?”

Jon sent him the address.

“just knock on the door. ill let u in”

Jon wasn’t particularly open about painting with others. Sure, he showed them off and sold them all the time. He just usually kept the process personal. But he _did_ want to hang out with Tilian. Even if he felt a little anxious at the thought. Jon got back to the canvas.

A half hour later, a knock came at the door.

“It’s me.”

Jon padded over the refuse and paints on the floor to let Tilian in. The other man was grinning cheekily.

“Not gonna lie, I’m kind of excited to see your stuff.”

“Cool,” Jon muttered. Tilian let his smile falter a little.

Jon led him over to his space, pulling up a creaky, stained stool for Tilian to sit on some feet behind Jon. Jon sat back down at his easel without another word, and got back to his painting.

Tilian rested his feet on the lower bars of the stool, hands in his lap. He sat there quietly, watching for a moment. After a few minutes, Jon could hear him fidgeting. He glanced towards Tilian, who smiled back. The latter was bouncing his knees on the stool.

“So, uh… how’s it going… ? Um… That looks really good, you know. Haha,” Tilian swallowed. He stopped fidgeting.

Jon muttered a “ _fine, thanks_ ” before turning back to the canvas. Tilian let out a breath. Then, silence.

Tilian remained quiet for a while after that. Barely even a creak came from the stool. Jon worked for a while, developing his idea. After some time, he put his brush down, scooting back from the canvas to gaze at it for a moment. He rubbed at his eyes, and sighed.

Jon turned his head to Tilian and looked at him for a moment. He smirked.

“D’you wanna smoke? You’re acting as fuckin’ fried as I feel.”

“Y-yeah. Sure,” Tilian responded. “I’d appreciate it.”

Jon rummaged through a duffel bag shoved into the corner of his workspace. He held his hand up, above him, holding a small bong. Jon turned, smiling wide.

“Home sweet home, man.”

 

* * *

 

 The roof of the studio building was stained with dusk light. Dusty clay pots with skinny skeletons of plant stems were stacked near the edge of the roof. It was a relatively tall building in a sea of short homes and businesses. Tilian wandered near the edge, grazing his fingers over the chain-link fence keeping them in, peering over the low skyline. Jon locked the door behind them, and sat down with his back to the wall. He took the bong out of his bag and started packing the bowl.

Tilian plopped down next to Jon.

“Do you seriously always carry shit with you?” Tilian remarked, wryly.

“You never know when you might need a rip,” Jon replied. “Though I do smoke less than I used to. It’s bad for you,” Jon smiled at Tilian.

“Duh,” Tilian grinned back.

Jon lit it up. The two took puffs off the bong, handing it back and forth. Tilian let go of his tension, appearing to melt.

After a few long minutes of this, Jon held onto the bong, a wide grin forming on his face.

“I wanna try something. Come here,” Jon said through his smile. Tilian raised his eyebrows. He scooched closer.

Jon nodded. “Just breath in, okay?”

“Uh, alright,” Tilian muttered in response.

Jon looked into his eyes, took a rip off the bong, and gestured Tilian to bring his face closer. Tilian blinked at him. Jon grabbed the back of Tilian’s head gently, pulling his mouth to Jon’s; Tilian, eyes wide, finally understanding, opened his mouth, inhaling the smoke. Tilian brought his hand to Jon’s arm as their lips interlocked. Jon motioned to pull away, but Tilian pulled him in closer, into an actual kiss. Jon grunted quietly in surprise, tensing up, then relaxing.

Smoke poured out around the two as they exhaled. Jon reciprocated by deepening the kiss, tightening his grip with loose strands of Tilian’s hair. He pressed his body to Tilian’s, feeling the latter’s heart race in his chest. They met each others’ lips desperately, gasping in between moments. Jon felt Tilian’s arm around his waist, pulling him closer. Soon enough, Jon found himself in Tilian’s lap, looking down on the other man. He pulled away for a moment, wiping his mouth, eyebrows raised in concern. Tilian gazed up at him.

“One day. One fucking day, man,” Jon sighed. “We can’t not do this for one day.”

“I know. We’re fucked,” Tilian’s voice cracked lightly. He let out a half-hearted chuckle, then cut it off shortly.

A pause.

“That, that was kind of hot,” Tilian stammered quietly, looking away, bright red. “I mean, it’s not gross… If you, if you wanna k, kiss more, I’d be open to it, I guess.” He was tensing up again.

Jon felt his feet go cold, his lips tight. “I, I uh, I don’t know,” he muttered. He looked down.

Another pause. Jon let go of his grip on Tilian’s shoulders, after he realized he was holding him so tightly.

“Do—do you, do you think,” Jon swallowed. “Do you think we’ve gone too far?”

“Why do you—why do you think that?” Tilian obviously knew, but the words fell out of his mouth anyway. “I mean, it’s just, it’s just practical. Like everything else we do. Convenient, like we sai—”

“Because I want to kiss you, too. A lot. And we’re home, so it shouldn’t matter. But we’re still doing this,” Jon mumbled quickly, pulling himself away.

They sat opposite each other silently for a moment, not meeting each other’s eyes.

“Do you think you have feelings?” Tilian whispered. His hands fell into his lap.

“I don’t know what I think, man,” Jon mumbled.

“’Cause I—I don’t think I do, so I think it’s okay,” Tilian felt his breath catch in his throat. His hands were shaking.

Jon could tell that that wasn’t entirely the truth.

He returned to sitting next to Tilian. He looked away from the latter, reaching for the bong.

“Whatever man. Let’s just finish this bowl.”

Darkness rested upon the roof like a blanket as the sun’s last rays were swallowed by the horizon. The heat of the afternoon dissipated quickly in the dry air, exacerbated by a cool breeze. The two had scooted close back together once more for warmth. Tilian placed his head on Jon’s shoulder.

Jon dumped out the ashes from the bowl, and the water from the bong. The two of them gazed over the edge of the roof into the clear night sky. Tilian shifted his head to look up at Jon.

“Do you wanna do something tonight? We uh,” he chuckled, “we don’t have to kiss.”

Jon shook his head. “I’m tired,” he replied weakly. “I think I’m just gonna head home.”

“Okay,” Tilian swallowed. “I guess I’ll head out now, if that’s okay.”

Jon felt his fingers rise up involuntarily to lightly brush Tilian’s arm.

“Let’s—can we chill just a little longer?”

Tilian smiled.

“No problem.”

 

* * *

 

 Jon waved back at Tilian as the latter stepped out of the studio and down the stairs. Tilian’s foot steps echoed lightly until becoming imperceptible. Jon stood in the doorway, gazing down towards the stairway entrance for a moment. He then slid back into the studio room.

_Maybe just a bit more work on that painting._

He yawned, locking the door behind him. He knew nobody was going to come in for the rest of the day, but he still wanted to ensure his peace. He flicked the room lights off, turning a lamp above his workspace on.

He glared at the piece sitting on the easel. It looked unfocused to him still. He sighed in frustration, half-heartedly kicking the stool Tilian had used earlier. It skipped a few inches over with a _clang_.

Jon sat down in front of the easel and picked his brush back up. He let his mind wander as he glided the brush across the canvas, applying thick layers of paint in a few strokes.

After a long while, the thoughts drifted to earlier that evening.

_Does he have feelings for me?_

Jon frowned. He grabbed a different brush and a new color.

_Well, that doesn’t have to affect me. I don’t like him anyway._

He relaxed a bit. The image in his head was becoming a bit clearer on the canvas.

_I can’t believe we kissed._

He felt his heart beat pick up. The image of Tilian’s face so close to his danced in his head.

_We’ve definitely gone too far._

Jon rested his hands on his knees, putting his brush back down. He sighed, sitting there in the silence.

_Fuck!_

His phone buzzed suddenly, causing him to jump. He stood, wiped his hands on his pants, and pulled his phone out of his pocket.

A photo Snapchat from Tilian. Jon clenched his teeth and sighed in exasperation.

He was _so_ fucking tired of himself. He tapped to open it.

It was a simple enough selfie. Tilian was smiling big, still in his jacket from earlier, lying down in (what Jon presumed) was his bed. Weird, but not, like, freaky.

Jon started typing in response.

“wow. thanks”

Tilian was typing back.

“Just thought I’d let you know I got home lol”

“cool i guess”

Tilian sent a sticker of his Bitmoji giving the finger.

“Anyway”

Tilian continued.

“I was thinking about earlier”

Jon groaned. Even though he was definitely guilty of the same.

“I just wanna say sorry”

“okay”

A pause.

“I’ll send you a real apology. One sec”

Jon furrowed his brow.

“like what”

A bubble popped up indicating that Tilian sent another photo. Jon tapped it in his confusion.

It was a photo of Tilian, taken at nearly the same angle as the previous selfie. His mousy hair had fallen from being slicked back, long strands covering an eye. The bottom edge of his shirt was in his smiling mouth, his bare chest exposed. He had a sheen of sweat over his smooth skin. Lower down, his cock laid flaccid, but heavy in his briefs.

Jon felt his heart beat heavily in his chest. His breath caught in his throat.

_Fuck it._

He screenshot the pic. A moment passed.

“Wow haha”

“whoops my fingers slipped. haha”

“Fuck offffff”

Tilian sent a sticker of his Bitmoji looking smug.

_Ugh, what a weirdo._

Jon closed the app. He opened up his Camera Roll. He gazed at the pictures of Tilian he’d collected so far.

 _Okay, maybe_ I’m _the weirdo._

He felt his cock throbbing in his pants.

_Ughhhhhh._

Jon leaned back on the office divider around his workspace. Although he knew he was alone, he still looked around anxiously for others. He pulled his cock out of his pants.

He looked intently at the pic from the shitty bathroom. It was weeks ago, but it felt like just yesterday. He swept his eyes up and down Tilian’s body. He stroked his dick slowly.

_I hate this shit._

Jon flipped to the other pic. He increased his pace. He could feel himself sweating through his shirt.

He thought about Tilian’s hands on his body, warm and soft. And about Tilian roughly grabbing at his hair, his sides, his legs. And about Tilian kissing him earlier, grabbing at Jon, so needy to just get closer to him.

Jon put his phone down. He slid down the wall until the tarp on the floor crinkled beneath him, then down further until he was virtually lying prone. In his movements, he bumped his work chair with his leg, generating a _thud_ , startling him slightly. He got as much spit on his free hand that he could manage, probing his own hole with his finger. He managed to slide it in finally with some effort, the sudden pressure causing him to gasp in surprise. And with a bit of movement, he got was he was looking for. Painful jolts of arousal shot through his body with every thrust.

_Fuck._

It hurt like hell. He clearly didn’t have enough lubrication for this, and he didn’t prep himself at all; he was just too eager to have _something_ fill the desire inside of him. But it also felt so agonizingly good, especially when he thought about Tilian doing it last time, and how badly he wanted Tilian to do it again and again, to fuck him with his cock, to pound him until it fucking hurt, until he couldn’t fucking walk. He thought about Tilian bending him over a table and fucking him dizzy, his strong arms pressing Jon down and grabbing at his sides so hard he bruises. He thought about Tilian fucking him in the bathrooms of shitty bars and keeping this a secret from everyone. He thought about Tilian’s sweet vulnerability when he was getting his cock sucked, and about Tilian’s obvious crush on him, and about how badly Tilian clearly wanted him. He thought about Tilian kissing him, so needy, over and over, and then Jon came with a pained gasp, arching his back up off the ground.

His sight dropped to darkness, then became invaded with flashes of stars. His mouth was painfully dry. His ass felt like he just shit a knife.

Jon cast his arms wide, and laid there on the tarp, gasping for air, soaked in sweat. He stared, blurry-eyed at the high studio ceiling.

_This is so fucked._

A long moment passed before Jon reached for his phone. Tilian had sent a message in the interim: a single question mark.

Jon opened up the camera in the chat and snapped a picture of himself, catching everything from his weak smile to the cum all over his thighs. He tapped the screen and added a caption:

“thinkin of u”

He sent it to Tilian, then cleaned up himself (and the space around him). He glanced over at his painting.

It was definitely getting somewhere.

He packed up his bag and flicked off the lamp above his workspace. As he stepped towards the stairway to leave, he saw Tilian had screenshot the picture, and left a single message to him in response:

“Holy shit”

Jon smiled to himself.

At least he wasn’t the _only_ fuckup here.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They try to talk it out. Shenanigans occur.

Another mostly sleepless night, full of tossing and turning, plagued Tilian well until early petals of morning sun floated in through his window. Five forty-two. He stared angrily at the time on his phone, wishing that it hadn’t passed so quickly. They had a show, today; another one where he was going to have to power through his exhaustion.

He’d arrived home pretty late last night, in any case. Alone, as his girlfriend had decided to take a break some time before this most recent tour started. He let her know he was back in town the prior afternoon, maybe to meet up for some food and talk it over, but she still hadn’t gotten back to him. He didn’t mind too much, anyway. He was feeling so gooey in the brain lately that any attempt to get her back was probably gonna end in him saying something shitty. At least, that’s what he told himself.

Tilian chose to get up finally, even if it was still dreadfully early in the morning. Maybe get in a run, or an actual workout, well before meeting back up with the guys later in the afternoon. His eyes felt heavy, almost glued together as he drifted, phantom-like, from his bedroom to the bathroom.

He ran the water hot, and tried to sort out the pile of thoughts in his head.

_We’ve definitely gone too far._

He thought about how, when he saw the picture Jon sent him last night, he felt like his heart was going to leap out of his chest. Then he thought about how hard he came afterwards. He grimaced.

_Is that really a bad thing?_

He paused.

_Yeah. It is._

They were friends, sure. Maybe not that close, but you tend to bond with anyone you spend almost every hour of every day for half the year with. And while he got along well enough with everyone else in the band, Tilian felt like his personality just clashed too hard to really form real relationships with them. Though he wasn’t entirely sure how true that was. He tended to be pretty critical of those sorts of things. He could barely even talk to fans, most of the time. Not out of malice, just… anxiety, he supposed.

But Jon… Jon was also awkward, and also said weird shit to people, and tended to distance himself, too. If nothing else, Tilian felt like he was able to fit in somewhat around Jon’s alienated outer shell. And Jon not pushing him away indicated that maybe, the other man felt the same about Tilian. So Tilian sat by him at restaurants, and shows, and stood by him at meet-ups, and hung out with him outside the studio and shows without anyone else. In retrospect, Tilian felt a little embarrassed at how closely they tended to cling to one another. They were careful to not show any physical contact in public, but their constant proximity was hard to deny. Tilian felt his face grow hot; he buried it in his hands. Water pooled in the space below his eyes.

_Fuck. People probably thought something was up long before this even started._

In essence, however, they were coworkers. They might make music, but it was indeed their job, and other people depended on them to do that job, and do it well. Having weird secret trysts with your coworker didn’t necessarily imply occupational success. If one or more of the guys found out, Tilian feared it might fuck up the band irreparably.

And he really, _really_ didn’t want to be the reason why this damn band almost breaks up again. It felt like a fucking curse that had been following him from the day he joined, even if that was years ago at this point. He had thought, upon joining, that if anything, they might replace him eventually as they did the previous vocalists. Maybe for “creative differences” (a coded musician’s phrase for, “you fucking suck”), or “ideological differences” (another code, this time for, “you’re a fucking moron”)—not for… whatever this was. His career, and all their careers, would be fucked.

 _Why did I_ have _to drink that night?_

He stepped out of the shower, staring at himself in the mirror. His eyes were obviously red.

_We need to stop this._

He took out his phone and messaged Jon.

“Come over when you can, okay?”

Jon took a while to respond.

“its so fcuking earl ydude. what si your problm”

“Pleaseeeeeee”

“whyyyyyyyyyy”

“We have to sort this shit out”

“>:(“

Jon kept typing.

“fine. im gettinng coffee tho. youw atn anythign”

“Oh are you going to Starbucks?”

Tilian started excitedly typing out a drink order.

“no. im just going ot the convinebce store. ill get u a coke or smthign. damn”

Tilian deleted his message.

“Thanks lol”

“ill b ovre whenvr”

“Okay”

Tilian sighed. He returned to his bedroom to get ready.

_Is Jon mad at me?_

He shook his head.

_Why should I care?_

_He’s an adult._

I’m _an adult._

_We can be adults about this._

 

* * *

 

Jon’s hands were full when he finally arrived at Tilian’s apartment, so he kicked the bottom of the door in a way that he hoped sounded like a knock. He heard a muffled yelp, followed by harried steps towards him.

Tilian cracked open the door to see Jon, looking mere steps above literal death, holding a coffee in one hand, and a can of diet soda in the other. He had on a red jacket over a wrinkled flannel. His pants were ripped and thin, stained with paint and other mysterious fluids. His hair was without direction. He swayed slightly in the dawn light, squinting at Tilian’s visage. Clearly, not yet awake.

“Hey, man,” Jon mumbled, smiling crookedly. “You look tired.”

“You look like you didn’t even wake up.”

Jon nodded slowly, and took a long sip from his coffee. He handed Tilian his drink. Tilian led him inside.

Jon shuffled over to Tilian’s couch and dropped into it heavily. Some coffee spilt onto his pants.

“Fuck,” he grumbled defeatedly after a delay, and yawned.

Tilian cracked open the soda. He sat on his coffee table, facing Jon. Tilian felt like his own nervous energy was bouncing off the shambling corpse in front of him, rebounding and reverberating inside himself.

“So,” Jon said, clearing his throat. “What do you wanna talk about?”

Tilian met Jon’s eye, and opened his mouth, but no words came out. He then looked away, taking a sip.

Jon narrowed his eyes. “Well? I fuckin’ dragged myself out here at asscrack o’ clock. Make it worth it, or I’m passing out on your couch.”

“I just—,” Tilian started. He swallowed. “I really just think we should stop, doing, you know. This.”

“Well, yeah,” Jon replied without missing a beat. “We really, _uh_ , fucking should. _Will_ we though?” He yawned, smirking.

Tilian raised his eyebrows. This wasn’t the response he was expecting, especially after Jon distanced himself so readily yesterday.

“I mean… we _could_ , or could not,” Tilian said, slowly. “But we definitely, definitely should.” He chuckled nervously. “Like, haha, right now. It’s done. No more of this.” He forced a smile.

_Keep it cool. Keep it casual._

Jon stared at him silently for a moment, taking another sip.

“No, you’re not listening,” Jon remarked sharply. “We can’t.”

Tilian let his mouth hang open for a moment, eyebrows lowered.

“What do you me—”

“You know what the fuck I mean,” Jon replied curtly, cutting him off.

“Uh—”

Jon finished his coffee with a swig, settling it down with an empty rattle onto the coffee table.

“ _You’re_ fucked. _I’m_ fucked. We’re both fucked. Actually fucked,” Jon shifted to the edge of the couch seat. “What the fuck was up with that picture last night? Last time, okay, you were fucking with me. And I was fucked for screenshotting it, but whatever! It could’ve been anything. Like I—I could’ve blackmailed you for it, or made fun of you for it, or some shit, not that I _would_ , but the possibility is there. But last night,” Jon muttered quietly, shifting even closer. “You know what that was. I don’t know if you _really_ , _actually_ know, but you _know_. Somewhere inside you.”

Jon was practically hovering off the couch, right in front of Tilian’s face. He was suppressing a nervous smile.

Tilian thought Jon looked quite like a frightened dog.

He could smell the coffee, and the sleep, on Jon’s breath, he was so close.

“And that’s—that’s, I guess, why I sent you that pic back,” Jon stammered, pulling himself back slightly. “So—so you’d know. So you’d know, and I’d know for sure, that we’re both fucked. And judging by your reply back,” his voice fell to a whisper. “I was right.” He sat back down, looking straight at Tilian.

“We’re trapped,” Jon muttered, deliberately.

Tilian sat there silently, staring into Jon’s eyes for a long moment. He put down the soda can when he realized he’d crushed it slightly with his grip. The condensation from the can had left a clean, dark circle on the leg of his pants.

_Trapped?_

“I—I told you, Jon. I don’t have feelings. It’s just, it’s just more of the same, the same stuff. Just getting off, haha,” Tilian’s gaze kept flicking towards the floor, away from Jon.

_Look at him in the fucking eyes._

“Like what casual friends do?” Jon replied.

“Yeah.”

Silence.

“It didn’t feel so casual when we made out yesterday.”

“W-well, we _were_ high… “

“Being high doesn’t _make_ you do that. It just makes it easier. Don’t be fucking stupid.”

“Why are you being like this right now, dude?” Tilian forced another laugh, another smile. “We can just end it. Don’t make it fucking weird, haha.”

“ _I’m_ not the one making it weird. You’re fucking making it weird. Also, again? You’re not fucking listening.”

Tilian narrowed his eyes. “I’m listening. And you know what I hear? You’re being a dick.”

“ _You’re_ being a fucking dick.”

Jon pulled his mouth tight. They stared at each other in heavy silence. Tilian tightly gripped the fabric at the bottom of his shirt. Jon had pulled his arms in, crossing them, leaning over his lap to peer at Tilian.

 _The band is_ so _fucked._

Tilian felt a heavy ball of anxiety build up in his stomach. He pulled his eyes away from Jon, standing up quickly. He motioned to turn away, to get some room to calm his nerves, but was stopped when Jon suddenly grabbed at the sides of Tilian’s shirt, holding him fast. Tilian looked down in bafflement. Jon looked up at him calmly.

“No, hold on. Say it. Just say it. Say it and maybe I can fucking hope we’re mature enough to deal with this.”

“Say wh—”

“Ohhh my god! Seriously, fuck off with this innocence shit, Tilian. You’re not stupid.”

“Dude, I’m just freaking out right now, and this isn’t helping.”

Jon stood up, grabbing Tilian by the shoulders. He gazed at the latter expectantly, eyebrows high, mouth slightly agape.

Tilian really couldn’t breathe. He felt like his chest was going to collapse in on itself. He closed his eyes.

He let the thought that had been rattling around silently in the back of his brain come forward, presented like a new witness to a cold case on trial.

“Okay—okay, maybe, maybe you’re right,” he whispered. His mouth felt incredibly dry. He cleared his throat, increasing his volume. “Fuck. Maybe I do have feelings! And maybe, you do too, so you’re acting so fucking weird, and you—”

Tilian was cut off by Jon forcefully pulling him into a kiss. Jon pulled away quickly, releasing Tilian’s shoulders, running his hands through his own hair. His gaze flicked around the room, not meeting Tilian’s. He was breathing quite rapidly.

“Fuck! Finally! God, I was about to kick your ass.”

Tilian stared wide eyed at Jon. He was officially lost. He felt dizzy.

“What in the… “

“You’re so fucking weird, dude! You act like, like aloof, like ignorant, but you’re the one who started this shit. I figured all this out last night. It’s so obvious. I feel like I’ve been losing my mind.”

Tilian looked down at him blankly. He felt like his brain just reset and was reloading all the information around him.

Jon continued. His breathing slowed. He was gripping the arm of his jacket with the opposite hand, apparently to steady himself.

“I just, I just needed you to admit that you have feelings. That you—that _you_ like _me_. So that we can realize, that you’ve—that we’ve gone too far. Maybe then, maybe now, we can just… finish it. We can get out of this. If you, if you deny that you’re stuck, you can’t get out, you know?”

Tilian balked. “ _O_ kay… and you proved this… by doing that _just_ now… ?”

Jon froze. A distant look came over his face. “I did that, huh. I mean, I just—I just, got overwhelmed… ”

Then, in Tilian’s mind, it clicked.

_Oh, my god. He’s projecting._

Jon paused. Tilian lowered his brows.

Jon opened his mouth to continue, but Tilian motioned over, placing his hand softly on Jon’s shoulder, kissing him gently on the lips. Jon relaxed into Tilian’s embrace. Tilian shifted to pull away, but Jon pulled him closer into another kiss.

They parted for a moment. Tilian felt Jon open his mouth to speak, warm breath against Tilian’s lips, pausing for a few seconds.

“Maybe—maybe we can deal with it, later. It’s fine, for now,” came a soft whisper.

Tilian grunted in affirmation, pulling Jon into another kiss. He wrapped his arm around Jon’s waist, gripping tight at his jacket. Jon jerked downwards on Tilian’s shirt. Tilian leaned into another kiss as Jon settled himself back down onto the couch. He turned to his side, allowing Tilian to kneel on the cushion next to him. Tilian pulled himself on top of Jon, resting deliberately on Jon’s hips, meeting his fervent motions with his lips. Jon was running his hands through Tilian’s hair, brushing his thumb against Tilian’s cheek for a brief moment.

Tilian let his hand wander underneath Jon’s shirt. He pressed gently into Jon’s side, eliciting a squirm from the other man. Jon had busied himself with unbuttoning Tilian’s shirt.

“Fuck,” breathed Jon, “I regret not fucking showering. Sorry, dude.”

Tilian pulled his unbuttoned shirt off, prompting Jon to run his hand down Tilian’s chest.

“It’s fine,” Tilian mumbled, “I barely noticed a difference,” pulling Jon into another kiss.

“That, uh,” Jon muttered, “felt like less than a compliment.”

Tilian chuckled quietly. He unzipped Jon’s jacket, pulling his flannel up over his chest. The feeling of contact of their bare chests caused Tilian’s breath to hitch in his throat. His hand wandered lower, grabbing at Jon’s hip, slowly sliding down the waist of his pants. They were both already soaked in sweat. Tilian scooched lower, freeing Jon’s legs. Jon was already pretty hard, likely due to the friction and warmth of Tilian above him.

Without hesitation, Tilian gripped Jon’s cock and started stroking him roughly. He could hear (and feel) Jon breathing heavily. Jon had brought his sleeved arm over his mouth, but Tilian could still hear quiet, contained moans coming from him. With his other hand, Tilian lightly pressed against Jon’s taint, and gently stroked his thighs, keeping his rough pace as Jon got closer and closer. Jon bucked against Tilian’s hand, eyes shut tight, until coming suddenly; this prompted him to pull Tilian back up to his face, into a hard kiss, and a series of more desperate ones.

“Fuck off,” Jon mumbled against Tilian’s lips, “that was so fucking good.”

“Y-yeah,” Tilian breathed hard against him.

They laid there for a few moments, quickly meeting each others’ lips every few moments. Jon ran his hand through Tilian’s hair.

“Okay, fuck it, it’s my turn,” Jon said, forcefully pushing Tilian back into a sitting position. He then shifted, pulling Tilian towards him until the man was lying on his back.

Jon quickly unzipped Tilian, readily pulling his erect cock into his mouth. Tilian inhaled sharply. He went to place his hands on Jon’s arms, when his phone went off. Jon’s phone started ringing a second later.

He scrambled to pull it from his back pocket.

“It’s fucking Will. Shit. Don’t say anything.”

Jon peered up at him, annoyed, mouth obviously full of cock. He was trying to reach for his own phone to silence it. Will didn’t need to know Jon was with Tilian. After Jon successfully silenced his ringer, Tilian picked up. Jon continued his work.

_I can’t fucking believe I’m doing this._

“H-hey man. What’s up?”

Tilian prayed he sounded at least close to normal over the phone. Though the pitch of his voice was a teensy bit unstable.

“Yeah, uhh,” Will laughed awkwardly. “It’s eight thirty. We were gonna meet at the studio at eight, remember? You _do_ remember, right?”

“Ohhh yeah! Uh. Yeah, I remember. I mean, I forgot. Until just now. Sorry, I slept in. I uh, I’ll be there soon.”

Tilian bit his lip. Jon was getting him _really_ good today. He tried to control his breathing.

“Ooookay,” Tilian could almost hear Will rolling his eyes through the receiver. “Just get here ASAP.” A pause. “Are you okay? You sound a little weird.”

“Oh yeah, I’m fine! Just,” he exhaled sharply; he was close, “fine.”

“Alright man, whatever you say. Oh also, you seen Jon? We can’t get a hold of him at all.”

“Not—not at all! I’ll uh. I’ll call him as soon as I can,” he paused, breathing in. He made the mistake of looking down at Jon. “I’llletyouknowifIseehimokaybye.” Tilian hung up. He let his phone fall to the ground as he gripped Jon’s hair, pushing him down onto his cock as he came. He shuddered for a few moments, pressing down hard on Jon. After finishing, and realizing his mistake, he released his hand immediately, knowing he was going to get chewed out again.

Jon pulled away, cum dripping down his face. To Tilian’s surprise, he didn’t say anything about getting it in his mouth, this time. Jon just wiped his face and sat back.

“You have some clothes I can borrow?” Jon stated stoically after a minute. “I’ll just get ready here. I can drive us to the studio.”

Tilian blinked at him. “Uh, sure. You’re gonna shower, though, right?”

Jon let out a short laugh.

“Duh, you asshole.”

 

* * *

 

Nobody bat an eye at Jon wearing Tilian’s clothing at the studio. Tilian guessed it helped they wore each others’ clothes all the time on tour. It aided him to relax, even through the already-stressful process of working a few bugs out of their performance. A few timing issues here, some tuning problems there. It wasn’t exactly the most strenuous process, but considering they strove for a studio-accurate sound onstage, they put great pride into that work.

Jon had seemingly woken up on the way to the studio. He was, bizarrely, almost chipper in talking to Tilian during the drive. Tilian couldn’t help but smile the entire way. He didn’t know what they were going to do about the hole they kept digging for themselves, but he was going to enjoy those moments while they lasted.

Though, that high-energy Jon immediately disappeared as soon as he left the car. Tilian had tried nudging him playfully, even making a few jokes at his own expense, but Jon just didn’t respond. And as soon as they opened the door to the studio, Tilian had to pretend that he wasn’t worried about it.

During rehearsal, Jon kept spacing out, missing cues, or not hearing remarks from the guys. Tilian tried to keep his eyes averted, so as to not seem culpable.

They decided to break for a short while after about an hour and a half. Tilian stayed in, settling onto a couch in the studio. He watched Jon silently step over to the side entrance.

 

* * *

 

Jon slipped through the side door, empty-handed. He went to a picnic table situated just next door to the studio building, pulling out his phone and absent-mindedly flipping through his social media feeds.

He heard the click of the side door behind him, but didn’t turn around to see who it was. He decided to ignore them. He was entirely too fucking tired for today.

They ended up sitting at the picnic table, on the same side, but putting a good amount of room between them. Jon glanced over. It was Andrew, smiling warmly, resting his chin in his hand, leaning on the table nonchalantly.

“Hey man,” chimed Andrew.

“Whassup,” Jon mumbled back.

Andrew blinked slowly at him. He inhaled, then exhaled.

“You, uh… you been okay lately?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Why you ask?”

“’Cause you don’t seem fine.”

“Get your eyes checked, bro.” Jon smiled, then returned to looking at his phone.

Andrew sighed.

“Listen, like—it might just be because I’m new to you guys, like I know you, but obviously not as well as you like, know each other… but I think the others see it too. You’re acting really weird lately, is all. Did something happen recently? Girl troubles?”

Jon looked back up at him. “Group eye exams,” he said, smirking.

Andrew frowned. “I’m just—I’m just saying, you’re worrying me. And the guys. So like, if you want to talk, do it. Don’t act like you’re above it,” he exhaled. “Or below it, even, I guess.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. But trust me, I’m fine. Yadda-yadda.”

“Jon, just—”

“Seriously dude, let me enjoy the break. I didn’t sleep good last night. I’ll text you if I want to talk. Chill out.”

Andrew pulled his hands into his lap. A light breeze had picked up, causing his shirt to flutter in the wind.

“Alright, if you say so.”

He stood up to leave, clapping Jon on the shoulder lightly before returning to the studio.

Jon turned, gazing back at the door as soon as he heard it shut. The cool air brought a shiver through his body.

_Is it that fucking obvious?_

 

* * *

 

The rest of the day went by without consequence. Tilian found himself yawning by the afternoon, but a few caffeinated drinks later and he was mostly functional. He had managed to pry his eyes off Jon fully by noon, forming a collected exterior all the way through to the evening. Jon managed to get through the concert without falling over. Altogether, a success.

However, Jon was still anxious to get back home and sleep. After cleanup, the guys wanted to go to a party at a bar downtown. Jon knew it was starting to become kind of obvious that he was avoiding these outings. Instead of letting them know ahead of time, he decided to just slip out. He’d text them later, come up with a better excuse by then.

Upon returning home, he flopped down onto his couch. Contacts out, shoes off, phone off. He didn’t remember falling asleep.

The first thing he sees past the painfully bright light of the dream, of course, is Tilian’s hand; not even his face, but Jon knows it’s his. Without thinking, Jon places his own hand onto it. Everything was fluid and shimmery, but upon looking up, Jon could see the other man smiling at him. Jon pulled his hand away.

“I don’t think—I know we can’t do this,” Jon said, his own voice feeling unreal.

“So what?” Echoed a voice that, although Jon couldn’t really actually hear it, was surely Tilian’s—or maybe, he realized, his own. He looked down at his hands. He wasn’t entirely sure how many fingers he was supposed to have.

Jon looked up. Everything around him was suddenly so dark, and so cold, and Tilian was gone, and Jon was alone. A weak red light shone from somewhere, giving it an almost angry presence.

“It’s just—it’s just fucked up. This wasn’t supposed to happen,” Jon stated, raising his voice. The echo of his voice back felt mocking.

_Trapped._

He fell to his knees, hitting the floor hard. He expected to feel pain, but felt nothing instead.

“What am I supposed to do?”

Silence. Jon closed his eyes.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. He knew who it was. And he was so mad at himself for it.

He opened his eyes to again see Tilian, motes of light falling around him, smiling at Jon. He was pointing to an open door just ahead of them. The door itself felt warm, and welcoming. Jon felt anger build up inside him at the obvious metaphor.

Jon heard a voice, that his dream was telling him was Tilian, though he knew better.

“If you just accept it, it won’t be that bad, huh? You can get out of it now, right? For sure?

“You knew that wasn’t what you wanted.”

Jon got up, feeling his mind’s projection of Tilian’s hand wrap around his own. It sent a warm feeling into his heart. The figure of Tilian started walking towards the door. Jon stayed fast. It stared back at him, smiling warmly still.

“Come on,” said the ghost.

Jon went to step forward, but felt some resistance pulling his leg down. He glanced downwards, but only felt rather than saw invisible hands grabbing at his clothes, wrapping around his legs.

Tilian kept trying to pull him forward, smile intact. He was becoming more abstracted with light and was getting hard to look at. Jon shook his head.

“It’s not happening,” Jon muttered. “I can’t go with you, man.”

The hands pulled him to his knees.

“This was supposed to be your way out,” replied the ghost.

_I don’t deserve that._

The ghost, now a formless figure, let go. It disappeared, the door closing quietly.

Jon felt a sudden pressure on his chest. He couldn’t breathe.

_I’m going to die down here. Alone._

His heart raced. He had a pit of cold fear build up in his stomach.

_This is it._

He closed his eyes.

A soft paw padded his cheek. Jon woke with a start to see his cat, loafing on his chest. Jon pulled him into a hug. He was incredibly sweaty and warm. He yawned. He still felt incredibly tired.

“I just had a fucked up dream, buddy,” he mumbled, burying his face into cat belly. He got a loud meow in his ear in response. Jon smiled.

“Oh so you’re hungry? Is that all I am to you?” He chuckled.

Another loud meow.

As he got up to grab the bag of cat food, Jon tried sorting through his thoughts after the dream.

_Okay, I’m definitely fucked up here. That dream confirms it._

He watched his cat bound up to the food dish and meow loudly again, before chowing down.

_I just have to give myself enough reason to stop._

He leaned down to pet the busy cat, and pulled out his phone to check the time. Almost six. The band didn’t have any plans for the day, so he figured he should just sleep in.

He wanted to give himself enough time to think it through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one ended up long, huh? lol. also there's the reason for the title in the dream there. though i might have abstracted it a biiiit too much..


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon starts acting a little weird. It doesn't end well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning for violence/bodily harm. sorry. i'll provide a short summary of what happened in the next chapter notes if you're not able to read this one.

Finally, the tour was over. Jon had felt like it lasted for years.

He was quick to try and forget about it at the end of tour afterparty. The band, as well as the support bands, had convened at a trendy, modern bar downtown. Jon didn’t let a second go by without a drink in his hand. He did his best to keep up a cheerful attitude, chatting and celebrating with everyone, though he was intentionally avoiding Tilian all night. He was completely wigged out still from his dream, and they hadn’t met up alone, or even talked outside of shows, since he’d been at Tilian’s apartment the other day. His thoughts and emotions were all just too mixed up in his head to really deal with it.

He had decided that he didn’t want anything to do with Tilian anymore. Nothing. The dream cemented it—all it was, was his brain telling him that Tilian was a bad influence on his life, his mind, his goals, that he didn’t need. That’s _all_ that dream was. He had figured out the subconscious symbolism completely. That dark space—that was where doing all this bullshit with Tilian had brought him. The door, and the ghost, was just a trick—it was all just an illusion, like how continuing their… “activities” was an illusion of a normal, healthy life. He had it all figured out. And he was mad about it.

He was tentative on even cooperating with him for the band. He’d come up with possible ideas and excuses to explain to the rest of the guys on why they should kick Tilian out. Though, all of them were pretty poor. The guys likely wouldn’t believe him if he stated they just didn’t get along well—after all, they’d hung out almost every day since getting back in SoCal. Plus, with the band’s recent success, they probably wouldn’t take that as enough of an excuse, and get mad at _him_ for being such a spoilsport.

Jon knew he’d figure something out, eventually. Something to get out of this. Meanwhile, Jon was going to pretend his life wasn’t spiraling out of his control. By drinking. Heavily.

And after only two hours, Jon was already pretty far past the point of sobriety. The bar cut him off. Jon was keen to let them know how he felt about it.

“What, nobody’s allowed to party like a _rockstar_ anymore?!” He yelled with a laugh towards the bar, only half-heartedly. He was swaying where he stood, holding onto the edge of the bar for support. His smile was getting hard to keep up. “C’mon, let a guy cut loose!” The bar tender just shook his head and waved his hand—the universal polite signal for _Fuck off_ —and went away to serve other patrons.

Jon grumbled, turning around to face the crowd. He shuddered in embarrassment at the sudden realization that everyone had put a good few feet of space between themselves and Jon at the bar.

He pulled out his phone in an attempt to avoid any awkward eye contact. He, of course, had nothing to really look at. No notifications, no texts, nothing. He gazed at his homescreen. His cat stared back at him. He thought about his cat waiting for him, alone.

_I should probably go home. I’ve already fucked this up._

Jon thought he heard someone call his name. He looked up, trying to find the source, seeing no one but the crowd slowly moving back to fill in the space in front of Jon. He looked back down at his phone.

A hand suddenly grabbed his shoulder, causing him to jump. He laughed nervously in surprise, turning up to face who else but Tilian, who was giving him a gentle smile. The much more sober man was wearing his jacket, and had his phone in his hand.

“Leavin’ already?” Jon mumbled. He kept finding himself having to force a smile even more at the other man. Jon, of course, was seething at having to be around him, again—but he wasn’t going to let Tilian know that. At least, not here, not now.

“You’re fucked up, dude,” Tilian muttered. “You gotta go home. You’ve been yelling at people all night. It’s not cool.” He kept his hand resting gently on Jon’s shoulder. He gave it a slight squeeze. Jon shivered in response, maintaining eye contact.

“I uh, I was just gonna, actually, leave,” Jon stammered, “so uh, it’s fine.”

“I’ll go with you, okay?” Tilian maintained that gentle smile. Jon groaned at this. “I already called an Uber. I just wanna make sure you get home okay.”

“Cancel it. I’ll, I’ll get my own.” Jon almost fell over, away from Tilian—he hadn’t realized he was unconsciously leaning backwards. He clumsily found his footing.

“You can barely stand up,” Tilian said, nearly at a whisper, his eyebrows raised in concern. He squeezed Jon’s shoulder again. Jon pulled away from his touch. He realized he was likely not going to get out of this interaction—if Tilian came to find him, the guys must be worried about him, too. They wouldn’t let him leave alone.

Jon then realized, that at least with Tilian, he wouldn’t have to keep up the smile. He could be as nasty as he wanted. Maybe it’d help push Tilian away. At this, Jon grinned, genuinely. He chuckled, bringing his hand up to Tilian’s arm.

“I—fine, whatever. You, you know what, I’ll take the ride. I need it,” Jon said, smiling.

Tilian let out a sigh of relief. He nodded, gesturing for Jon to follow him out to the front. As they shuffled through the crowd, Jon felt Tilian’s hand brush up against his own fingers, hidden by the warm bodies around them. Jon looked up in confusion; Tilian was facing away from him, still moving towards the entrance. Jon pulled his hand away, putting both of them into his pockets. Tilian didn’t appear to respond to this.

Jon kept to himself, a good two feet away from Tilian, as the two stood outside the venue, waiting for their ride. He could feel Tilian’s eyes on him. He looked forward into the dark street.

“Oh,” Tilian chirped, suddenly, “we’re going to your place, by the way. Just in case you were, uh, worried.” Jon could hear Tilian fidget beside him.

“Okay,” Jon mumbled curtly in reply. He heard Tilian’s breath catch in his throat, then a quiet exhale.

Jon felt a giddy energy burning inside him at the idea of all these little actions hurting Tilian enough to push him away. He knew Tilian had some feelings for him. Taking those feelings and twisting them back in on the other man gave Jon a rush.

_Okay, that’s a little weird, maybe don’t get too out of hand._

When their ride arrived, Jon slid to the edge of the backseat. Tilian sat on the opposite end, briefly greeting their driver. Jon said nothing.

The ride home was painful, and silent. Jon knew Tilian was keeping his gaze on Jon the whole time. Tilian had, at some point, extended his hand towards Jon, brushing the side of Jon’s thigh. Jon pulled away as much as he could, even though he was at that point practically glued to the door. Their driver kept quiet, apparently sensing the tension. Quiet country music played through the speakers. Jon felt himself dozing off every few moments, but managed to mostly stay awake until the end of their ride.

Upon arrival, Jon let himself out of the car and into his apartment without another word. Tilian stuttered a _thanks_ to their driver before stumbling out after him.

Jon could hear Tilian following him into the apartment, ostensibly to make sure Jon was okay. Though, he didn’t really mind. His previous plans had fallen out of his head, replaced by the singular goal of getting some sleep. If Tilian was going to awkwardly hang around for that, so be it. He shuffled into his bedroom, closing the door.

Jon didn’t remember falling asleep, after that. Though when he woke up in bed some few hours later, sobered up some, he found he was still fully clothed, and he still had his contacts in ( _fuck_ ), and his head was killing him, and Tilian had his arms wrapped around his waist.

The presence of the other man’s warmth and tight embrace caused Jon’s heart to immediately start racing. He felt Tilian’s chin nestled securely in the crook of his neck, the other man’s stubble roughly interfaced with his cheek, his breath warm against Jon’s face. He had to admit, it was kind of nice. He was even kind of turned on.

But he was also so, so mad. Here he was, being held (so, so tightly) by the damn man, after deciding to not be around Tilian at _all_ anymore. _And_ he liked it. And his heart was beating so, so fast. He knew he was only moments from getting a fucking hardon.

_Fuck._

Jon gently ( _why are my fucking hands shaking?_ ) moved Tilian’s arms out from around himself. He heard Tilian give a grunt of wakefulness. In the darkness, Jon pushed Tilian gently onto his back, his touch as soft as he could manage. He then pulled himself up onto Tilian, resting deliberately on top of the other man’s pelvis.

“O-oh, hey, Jon,” Tilian mumbled, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Jon could hear a smile in his voice. “Feeling better?”

“Yeah,” Jon whispered, barely audibly. “A lot better,” he laughed out, softly. He thought that he might as well enjoy this moment, before he kicked Tilian out of his life. He gently rode his hands up to Tilian’s face. Tilian rested his hands on Jon’s thighs, stroking them gently, letting out a warm sigh. Jon hadn’t really paid attention to the feel of Tilian’s face, before, but in the darkness, he was noticing a lot more than he ever had—again, of course, his rough stubble, contrasted intensely with the soft skin of his cheeks (Jon’s heart skipped a beat at this revelation, for reasons he wasn’t entirely sure of), and his hard jaw, his smooth neck—

And Jon, realizing how vulnerable Tilian was, in this moment, got an urge for something he’d never felt before. He felt his mind drift out from his body, watching himself as if he was another person in the room. And he felt his hands drift down Tilian’s neck, and rest his hands somewhat roughly right below the other man’s Adam’s apple. And he heard Tilian, though distantly, ask nervously with a laugh what Jon was doing, why he was so quiet, so quiet that it didn’t even sound like he was breathing. And he felt Tilian’s hands move up, slowly, then quickly from Jon’s chest, to his shoulders, and grab at them anxiously. And when Jon finally allowed himself to put pressure on the sweet, soft skin of Tilian’s neck, he felt the other man grab at his arms, and let out a soft cry of fear. Jon shifted himself forward, resting his body fully on Tilian’s stomach, making the other man’s attempt at breathing even more difficult, even more strained. Tilian, though the stronger of the two, was clearly disadvantaged from his position—he didn’t have enough leverage to fully pull Jon off him, and Jon’s weight on his chest was preventing him from bucking him off. Jon pressed down hard, his thumbs digging into Tilian’s throat. He heard soft cries for Jon to stop, asking him why, why he was doing this.

Warm tears fell desperately from Tilian’s eyes, the sensation of which caused Jon to pause for just a moment, as if in shock—enough for Tilian to reach up and get a vicious handful of Jon’s thick locks, and slap him across the face with his other hand. Jon pulled his hands away in an instant, allowing Tilian to push Jon backwards, giving him room enough to pull himself off the bed, scrambling to the opposite wall. He flicked on the light. He took in a pained, wheezing breath, followed by wet coughs. Although the adrenaline got him up, the pain of trying to get fresh air back into his lungs almost brought Tilian down to his knees. He was doubled over, hacking, sobbing in pain.

Jon sat dazed, having been bowled over into a sitting position, staring at where Tilian had just been on the bed. He tasted blood in his mouth.

Tilian wheezed in a shaky breath, before pulling himself back up more fully. Jon turned, facing him. He could see Tilian’s knees wobble.

“What,” Tilian sobbed out, coughing once more, “what the fuck was that? What is,” a cough, “what is _wrong_ with you?”

“I don’t,” Jon started, “I don’t, I, I don’t know? I jus—”

“You _don’t know_? What the fuck?”

Through the watery shimmer of his dried-out contacts, Jon could see Tilian’s eyes: red, and full of tears. He felt like his thoughts were simultaneously going too fast and too slow. There was definitely a lot of blood in his mouth; attempting to swallow it made him gag. He guessed he cut the inside of his cheek on his teeth when Tilian slapped him.

“I just—I had a moment, a moment where I thought,” Jon swallowed the blood again, this time successfully. His throat was so dry. “I thought, I didn’t have to deal with you, anymore, no more of this, nothing!”

“What the fuck? I’m a fucking human being, Jon, you can’t just—”

“Yeah, but you—you’re ruining _my_ life, all of this is ruining my life, and I’m so, so angry, I just, I just thought,” he paused, swallowing again. “I thought, I could end this,” he said, with a chuckle. Tilian was staring at him, wide-eyed in shock. “Take control of my life. You know.”

“Jon, I—you’re _so_ fucked—don’t _ever_ fucking touch me like that again,” Tilian muttered, letting out another sob that he cut short with a sniffle. “You’re, you’re so fucked, you’re _so_ fucked… “ he trailed off into a whisper.

Jon suddenly felt his mind return to his body. He looked at Tilian, and saw how pained, and hurt, and afraid he was, and felt his stomach drop.

“Oh, oh my god, dude,” Jon stammered, “oh, I am so sorry, I just,” he continued, standing up slowly in front of Tilian, noticing how the latter man was keeping his back tightly flush to the wall. “I—fuck, I just, I felt like I was out of control, and, and I’ve dreamt about you, you know—” he said, swallowing again. “I’ve dreamt about you, and it scared me, and everything about this scares me, and I don’t, I don’t know, I’m so fucking sorry, I’m so fucking sorry,” he murmured, keeping his hands low, away from Tilian.

Tilian eyed him closely, breathing quickly still. The frantic coughing had stopped, finally, but every few moments he would clear his throat, and inhale sharply in pain. Even just breathing in through his nose appeared to pain him. Jon clenched his jaw in guilt, watching this.

“You, you know—” Tilian paused, trying to steady his breathing. “I’ve dreamt about you, too, Jon. But those dreams have never made _me_ feel scared.” His voice was light, and rasped. “What did you even dream _about_?”

“I’m so fucking sorry,” Jon said, eyes darting up to meet Tilian’s.

“You should be, asshole,” a cough, “and you should be fucking glad we just finished the tour. My throat is all fucked up now, thanks to you.”

Jon sat down on the bed, in front of Tilian, gazing up at the taller man. He resisted the malicious smirk that was threatening to come up on his face. “It’d—it’d be fine, you know, we’d just replace you, anyway,” Jon said, bitterly, “then, then you’d be out of my life.” His voice fell to a whisper.

“You’re so fucked,” Tilian repeated, groaning. He closed his eyes tight. Jon could see tears welling up at the edges. Tilian was clearly fucking hurt.

Jon felt so fucking bad. He wanted to crawl into a hole.

_Why the fuck did I say that?_

Tilian took in a deep, shaky breath, wiping his eyes. He sat down next to Jon on the bed.

“You’re—you’re so fucked up,” a cough, “it’s just, we both know, at this point, that this isn’t going to end. There’s something here. You—you know this. I’m not—I’m not _ruining_ your life, you asshole,” Tilian mumbled, with a glare. “You’ve been free to say no this whole time. But you keep fucking coming back anyway. So stop pretending. You can’t fucking come at me like that, and deny that you have a part in this. We can’t be hurting each other. We should at least make it something enjoyable. Not—not a nightmare.”

Jon paused, looking at Tilian as hard as he could. “I don’t… I don’t _want_ it to be enjoyable, I want it to have never happened in the first place.”

Tilian grit his teeth, staring back at Jon. “You can’t fucking go back in time.” His gaze flicked away, focusing on some particularly interesting section of the floor for a long moment.

And they sat there, silently, mostly. Tilian’s breathing had slowed, finally, though he was still coughing every few moments. Jon was gazing into his own lap, and had the hem of his shirt in a vice grip, his knuckles bone white.

“I’m,” Jon started, quietly, “I’m really, really sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I’ve never wanted to hurt you, or anyone else, before.”

Tilian let out an exhale. He then shifted closer to Jon, reaching his arms around Jon’s waist, pulling him into a tight hug. Jon grabbed tightly to the back of Tilian’s shirt. He could feel the other man’s heartrate calm down. Jon let himself breathe in, for the first time really noticing how heavy the smell of product was in Tilian’s hair. He let his hand wander up and place it on the back of Tilian’s head, running his fingers through his hair. Tilian sighed in his arms.

After a long moment, they separated once again. They returned to silently sitting side by side.

Tilian spoke up after a while. “It’s—it’s not _okay_ by any means, and I’m not okay with you, right now,” he said, “but I’m not mad at you, okay? And I get it. I—I’ve felt the same towards you, at times,” he swallowed, coughing, but suppressing it. “You’ve done things that I just—I just wish I _could_ —you know. I’ve even—I’ve even gotten pretty close, haha. So. I get it.”

Jon nodded slowly. He cleared his throat.

“I, uh, I’m pretty sure, you know, Andrew knows,” he piped up after another long while.

Tilian blinked at him. “Did he say anything about it?”

“Well, not really,” Jon mumbled. This caused Tilian to roll his eyes. “He just said I’ve been acting weird lately, so I think he’s been keeping an eye on us.”

“That doesn’t mean he _knows_ , dude.”

“It still makes me fucking worried.”

“Well,” Tilian sighed, “what’d we do if they all found out?”

Jon swallowed. “I guess—I guess we just pretend like they haven’t?”

Tilian nodded, then narrowed his eyes, appearing to scan Jon’s face. Jon followed his gaze, realizing that it had stopped at his own mouth.

“Are you—are you bleeding?”

“Oh, uh, yeah? You uh, got me good.”

“There’s blood all over your teeth. It’s pretty freaky.”

“I uh, actually, I think I’ve stopped bleeding now, at least, just, lemme check,” Jon said, getting up quickly. He headed to the bathroom down the hall.

Sure enough, when he clicked on the light, he saw the white of his teeth dappled with a dark red. He admitted it looked pretty metal, but also definitely, definitely scary. He washed his mouth out. He tongued the laceration on the inside of his cheek. It felt and tasted raw, still, but it wasn’t an emergency. He knew it’d heal soon enough.

He decided to take the moment to clean up for bed. He returned to the bedroom, in just his T-shirt and boxers. He stood in the doorway, gazing at Tilian. He nervously picked at the skin on his thumbs.

“If—if you want, you can stay the rest of the night,” Jon said. “I know, it’s, it’s weird to say, after that, but, it’s late. You can sleep wherever, of course.” He looked away, awkwardly shuffling around Tilian to slide back into the bed. He laid there, turned away, expectantly.

Tilian sat for a moment, then stood to turn off the light in the room. Jon heard the rustling of fabric, then that of Tilian getting into the bed. Tilian moved tentatively to wrap his arms around Jon’s waist, once more. Jon placed his hand on top of Tilian’s, squeezing it gently.

“I’m still—I’m still not okay with you, like I said,” Tilian whispered, resting his forehead into the back of Jon’s neck.

“I know. That’s okay,” Jon replied.

Tilian grunted softly in response. He then lifted his head up, resting his lips on the back of Jon’s head for just a moment, before settling his chin back into the crook of Jon’s neck.

Jon felt his heart race once more, feeling his body warm at the touch, and the kiss. He felt like his heart was going to melt. Once Tilian’s breathing slowed, Jon felt himself finally relax, until he fell asleep soundly, wrapped warmly in Tilian’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was supposed to be a shorter section of a longer chapter but it got too long! whoops :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tilian and Jon attempt to reconcile. It goes better than expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (summary of prev chapter: tilian and jon head to jon's place together, after an end of tour party where jon gets a little too wasted. jon dissociates and chokes tilian out. tilian is understandably freaked out.)

When Jon woke up, he was still shrouded in that warmth. He smiled, eyes still closed, pushing himself deeper into it, only to realize that, once again, his cat had placed himself into his arms at some point in the night. Tilian was nowhere to be found.

Jon opened his eyes, peering at his cat’s sleeping face. He gently pulled his arms out from around the cat, eliciting a soft, startled _mrrw_. He shuffled towards the hallway, running his hand along the wall. He slipped into the bathroom, looking deeply into his own eyes in the mirror.

Nothing coherent came to his mind. It was like staring into TV static. Nothing came back. Just a tired-looking man, with long, scruffy hair, and dark circles under his eyes.

His shower was similarly uneventful. No solid thoughts. Silence pressed heavily onto his eardrums.

Jon found himself sometime after on his couch, checking up on his social media. His cat was bounding around, mrrowing for his attention. He went over to pick him up, settling him down on his own lap.

He got a Snapchat message from Tilian.

“Hey”

Jon typed up his reply. He pet his cat.

“hi”

“My throat is still fucked up. I can barely talk :(“

“im still really sorry. do u want me to do anything for u”

“Nah lol. Took some painkillers so I’m ok”

Jon paused. Tilian continued.

“You know, you’re really lucky lol”

“what do u mean”

“If anyone else had done that, they wouldn’t still be standing ;)”

“wowww ur so cool and tough”

“Just take the compliment, asshole”

Jon sent a sticker of their Bitmojis hugging.

“sorry if this is weird.. but can i come over later? just to hang, if thats ok”

_You really can’t stay away for one day?_

“Of course, yeah”

Jon hadn’t noticed until now how fast his heart was beating in his chest. He set his phone down and went to fill his cat’s food bowl.

_Maybe I can fix this._

 

* * *

 

This time, when Jon went to knock on Tilian’s door, his hands were empty, since he had the forethought to bring a backpack. He stopped by the convenience store again to stock it with snacks and drinks. After a few more knocks, he heard the door unlock, along with a soft _come in_.

Jon opened the door gently, seeing Tilian on the opposite end of the room, fiddling with a controller. He was wearing his glasses, and a sweatshirt. Jon noted with a smirk that he’d still bothered to slick his hair back, even though the rest of his attire was much more relaxed. Tilian looked up and smiled at Jon, who noticed how bruised the other man’s neck was.

“Hey, man,” Tilian whispered. Jon felt a knot of guilt in his stomach. He swallowed, nodding in response.

“I brought snacks, and drinks,” Jon said, averting his gaze from Tilian’s neck, “if you want.”

Tilian nodded. “It’s uh, kind of hard, to eat right now,” he rasped out. “But I appreciate it,” he said with a smile.

Jon really, really felt like he was going to burst into tears every time he looked at Tilian, now. The poor guy sounded awful. And it was all Jon’s fault.

Tilian handed Jon a controller. “Madden or FIFA?”

“I’m pretty bad at both of those, dude.”

“Uhh,” Tilian scrambled through a small pile of game cases. “Forza?”

“Sure? I guess?”

Tilian chuckled. “Forza it is.”

Jon kept sneaking glances over at Tilian as they played. Every look he got of Tilian’s neck, every time Tilian cleared his throat, Jon felt that knot twist in his stomach. Tilian didn’t seem to be paying Jon any mind, meanwhile. At least while they played, Tilian didn’t need to talk much.

Jon wasn’t doing so hot, in-game, either—he really did prefer slower-paced games. But it was enough to distract from the elephant in the room. After a while, he felt more normal, this all felt more normal. At one point, Tilian had scooted closer to Jon on the couch, as the afternoon light from the window was creating a glare on his glasses. Jon felt himself fall into Tilian’s warmth.

“Hey, uh,” Tilian started, quietly, still watching the TV, “I’m feeling kinda tired. Is it okay if we watch something, instead?”

“Yeah,” Jon replied, just as quietly.

They put on some paranormal investigations show. It wasn’t terribly interesting, but it was something to watch. With Tilian so close to himself, Jon wasn’t paying much attention to the TV anyway. He wrapped his arm around Tilian’s shoulder and pulled him closer. Tilian kept his eyes on the TV, chuckling at the ridiculous ideas the show’s hosts were proposing to explain whatever phenomena they’d just encountered.

After some time, Tilian reached for the remote and turned the volume on the TV down to a nearly imperceptible level. He laid more heavily on Jon, who responded by pulling him into a tight hug. Tilian removed his glasses, setting them down on the coffee table, then turned to rest his face on Jon’s chest.

“I, uh,” Tilian whispered, “it’s okay, you know. I thought about it. Really.”

“I’m really, really sorry still.”

“You really fucked up, Mess. I’m not gonna sugarcoat it. But,” Tilian swallowed, gripping at Jon’s shirt. “I brought you into this. We were both fucked up, at the time, but—well, you were, uh, especially vulnerable. You, haha, you kept forgetting, even, where you were.” He paused. “And I was way more sober than I think I was letting on. I pressured you into it. I know I did. So you, you have the right to be mad, even violently mad. It was, uh, self defense.”

Jon hugged him tight. “I dunno. I mean, if that’s okay, with you. I guess,” Jon muttered in response.

A pause.

“Sorry for making you talk so much,” Jon said.

“You’re not _making_ me do anything, Jon,” Tilian said, exhaling.

Jon shifted a bit, leaning down to rest his lips on the top of Tilian’s head. Tilian sighed once more.

“Back then… sorry, again, for making you talk,” Jon continued, eliciting a groan from Tilian. “Did you really not have feelings for me? Did you think about anyone else? At all?”

“I don’t—I don’t know, now, if I had any feelings, then. But, you were the only person that came to mind, yeah. I don’t really know what that means.”

Another pause.

“So uh, you’ve dreamed about me, you said?”

Tilian let out a little laugh. “Yeah, it was a lot like this, actually. Nothing weird, just… you, and me. Like this.”

Jon chuckled. “My dream was super fucked. It was like, uh, I guess I was in hell. It uh, it was embarrassing,” he said, blushing. “Like I said, you were there.”

“Yeah?”

Jon sighed. “Yeah.”

They sat there for a good while, before Jon spoke again.

“I hope you didn’t, uh, feel pressured to confess, the other day. If you don’t actually, actually have feelings, you can stop pretending. I don’t, want you to be afraid of me. I know how I am. So if you’re just doing this, because you think I’ll hurt you again—and, and I mean, that’s fair, that’s fine, I _did_ hurt you, and I won’t ever do it again, but if you’re afraid, just… you know, Tilian, it’s—"

“Jon, I like you.” Tilian sighed. His voice was getting even quieter, even raspier. “As in, I want to be around you… at least, for now, I want to be with you.“

Tilian tightened his grip on Jon’s shirt, pressing his face into the latter’s chest.

Jon placed another kiss on Tilian’s head. They laid there for a moment.

Tilian took out his phone. Jon watched as he typed a message into his notes app.

“my throat hurts too much to talk right now”

Jon ran his hand through Tilian’s hair. “Sorry, again.”

Tilian put his phone down, pulling himself closer to Jon. He sighed.

It wasn’t until after a while that Jon noticed Tilian had passed out in his arms. His breathing was slow, and soft. His warmth made Jon’s heart ache. He kissed Tilian’s head again.

“H-hey, Til, are you awake?” He whispered, as quietly as he could. No response. He just wanted to make sure, before turning off the TV, and shifting to a more comfortable position.

“I think,” he swallowed, his voice falling to a barely audible murmur, “I think I do like you, too.”

And Jon passed out, once again.

 

* * *

 

 Jon woke up, unsurprised this time to be completely alone again. Tilian really didn’t like waiting for Jon, he supposed. He checked his phone—it was early in the evening, still. It took him a long moment to remember where he was. His throat was painfully dry.

He stood up steadily, shuffling over to the kitchen. He carefully opened up the cabinets, one after another, looking for a glass in the low light. After finding one, he filled it from the sink. Jon stood there, sipping it slowly. He stared into the sink—it was empty, which Jon thought was a little odd, though he wasn’t sure why. Feeling curious, he popped open the dishwasher, only to find it empty, as well. He closed it, moving towards the fridge, intending to investigate it as well.

A loud creak of the wooden floor some feet away startled Jon out of his snooping. He nearly dropped the glass, catching it on the rim, spilling water over the kitchen floor. Jon looked up, towards the direction of the noise—it was Tilian, standing in the entry to the hallway. His arms were crossed over his bare chest, and Jon saw he was only wearing his boxer briefs. Jon couldn’t see the other man’s expression in the light. He blushed. He wiped up the water as conspicuously as he could with his socks.

“Uhh, hey,” Jon mumbled, keeping his eye on Tilian. He put the glass in the sink.

“Hey.”

Tilian cleared his throat, continuing. His voice was barely audible, even in the silence. “I’m gonna be in the room,” he whispered, disappearing down the dark hallway, towards his room.

“Oh, uh, okay.”

Jon padded towards the hallway, stopping for a moment to remove his jacket and throw it onto the couch. He paused, taking in the moment, before heading after Tilian.

The only light in the room was a table lamp on Tilian’s nightstand, illuminating the man with a soft yellow glow. Tilian was sitting on the bed, his knees pulled up slightly. He was on his phone, but placed it gently on the nightstand when he saw Jon enter.

Jon stood there, staring at Tilian in the low light. Tilian smiled at him warmly.

“Yeah,” Jon mumbled. He slid off his pants, sitting on the edge of the bed, facing away from Tilian. He could feel Tilian shifting closer, behind him. He felt Tilian’s hand on his arm.

“I guess you’re not really thinking of slee—” Jon’s quiet words were silenced by Tilian pulling him around fiercely into a kiss. Tilian pulled away for a moment, holding Jon’s face in his hands.

“Of course not, stupid,” he whispered, smiling wide, then pulling Jon into another kiss. Jon melted into his touch, pressing his mouth to Tilian’s.

Tilian again pulled away for a moment, allowing Jon to shift around and face him.

“Let’s, let’s just be genuine, for once, okay?” Tilian murmured, pulling Jon into another kiss, grabbing tightly onto the latter man’s shirt. “No pretend, no pretense. I—I want this.”

Jon nodded, letting his hands travel across Tilian’s chest, along his thighs.

“I want this, too.”

Jon pulled Tilian closer, intent to deepen the kiss—he ran his tongue across Tilian’s lips, offering an invitation the latter gladly took up. Tilian pulled the other man into his lap, letting his tongue explore the other’s mouth, pulling gently on Jon’s curls. Jon’s hands were all over Tilian’s chest, his arms, his face, and he let his apprehension go, loving every bit of it, savoring every moment of contact.

Tilian separated, shifting back, pushing gently down on Jon. The latter, desperate for contact, whined at the sudden distance, but acquiesced to Tilian’s physical assertion, laying on his back.

Tilian motioned over Jon, meeting his lips once more, feeling under his shirt, grabbing at his sides. He pulled the end of Jon’s shirt up and over his head, leaving the latter exposed, his pale chest covered in a layer of sweat, barely visible in the light. Jon breathed heavily, gripping at Tilian’s arms, motioning to pull him back down for another kiss, whining again in need.

Tilian mused at this, for a moment—Jon had always put up a barrier, no matter what the two were doing. He had a degree of apprehension, maybe even irony, even when the two had made out not so long ago. Jon never put up the front that he _actually_ cared, that he actually really enjoyed what they were doing. Even when Tilian was tender, and open, and vulnerable, Jon still put up that shell, and pretended to not care, to not even be there, really.

And here he was, so desperate for Tilian to just _kiss_ him again, to just come back to him. Tilian felt his heart melt. He’d known, for some time, that he indeed had feelings for Jon. And he knew Jon had feelings for him, too, though he was reluctant to admit it. Tilian had finally cracked that shell, their hearts meeting in mutual need.

Tilian felt lower, resting his hand deliberately on Jon’s cock, semi-hard in his briefs. He forced Jon’s legs apart, scooting himself closer, holding them open with his own legs. Jon knew his face must have been an embarrassingly dark shade of red. His entire body was so, so warm.

“God, I,” Jon choked out, “please, please don’t use your fingers this time.” Jon held tightly to Tilian’s arm as the latter moved over him.

Tilian smiled, reaching over into his nightstand, retrieving some lube.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” he whispered, pulling at Jon’s briefs. He was intent on fully preparing for this—slow and steady.

Jon breathed in shakily as Tilian’s finger laid softly against his hole, then gritted his teeth as the other man forced it in. Tilian worked his finger, stroking Jon’s thigh with his other hand, in an attempt to relax him. Tilian then thought of something that might distract the other man.

“You know,” he started softly, “I wouldn’t have minded so much if you’d just asked.”

“Wh-what?” Jon breathed, gripping desperately at Tilian’s bedsheets with one hand, the knuckles of his other hand being held tight between his teeth.

Tilian slipped another finger in, eliciting a sharp exhale from Jon.

“I, uh,” Tilian laughed, “I kinda like it rough, like that. I thought it was obvious.”

Jon groaned at the realization that he had indeed been screaming along to Tilian singing about this exact thing for years, now.

“So just ask, next time,” Tilian said with a smile, “I won’t mind at all.” Jon felt himself somehow get warmer at the thought. Tilian grinned, pushing Jon’s legs further apart, almost painfully so, spreading his fingers as much as he could. He then removed his hand, pulling down his own boxer briefs, lubing up his own cock.

“Ready?”

“I fucking guess,” Jon muttered back.

Tilian guided his hard cock in, giving a rough thrust, then pausing a moment to allow Jon to adjust. The latter man was biting onto his knuckles so hard, Jon could taste blood.

Tilian pushed further in with a hard thrust, starting a slow rhythm. Jon was, of course, incredibly tight, and even with all the lube in the world, it was going to be rough.

Tilian gripped hard onto Jon’s hips for leverage. “You gotta, you gotta relax—” he was interrupted by a sudden, blossoming sensation of arousal, having got into _just_ the right spot. Jon nodded, attempting to control his breathing, pushing hard against Tilian’s cock, grabbing at his own dick.

Jon was so, so overwhelmed at the sensation—finally, god, he was getting fucked, so hard, and it hurt so bad, but Tilian’s cock felt so good inside him, and every few thrusts he’d hit his prostate, and it felt like the sun was exploding behind his eyes. When he finally managed to relax his hole, Tilian took advantage, speeding up, hitting him harder and harder, and Jon was just so warm.

Jon looked up at Tilian, at his stupid tight body, at his hair, now fallen over his face, at his look of concentration—and god, it was so hot, it was too much. Jon couldn’t believe this stupid sexy man was _all_ his, all his to play with, fuck, it was too much. And he was pounding him so hard, so hard that Jon knew Tilian loved it.

And he did, holy fuck—Tilian was just as enamored by the man below him, barely keeping it together, letting out tiny gasps and breaths every few moments. Jon’s desperation was killing Tilian; he was close. Tilian had already accepted how cute he found Jon, weeks, or maybe months prior—his soft hair, his goofy attitude, his sweet smile—and now, it was just too much. Tilian wanted everything he could get from Jon, and, god, seeing him melt below him, he wanted more, he wanted all of him—

Tilian comes, and he lets out a coughing exhale, his vision going dark for a moment as he thrust through the rest of his orgasm into Jon. Jon works his own dick, pulling Tilian, blind, back up for a kiss. And they kiss, and Tilian bites at Jon’s lip, his tongue forcing itself in once more. Jon moans into the kiss, feeling Tilian’s warmth cover him, taking over his mind. He came soon after, pulling Tilian closer, separating their lips, just to hold him in a desperate hug. Tilian wrapped his arms around Jon, pressing his fingers into the other man’s slick back.

And they lie there, breathing, just breathing.

Eventually, they separate, Tilian sitting back on his heels, still panting slightly. He gazed down at Jon, looking just so sweet in the afterglow. Jon looked up at him, letting a smile come to his face, then glancing away sheepishly. Tilian leaned down, giving Jon a small kiss on the cheek, before flopping down next to him, clicking off the light. He wrapped his arms around Jon, totally spent.

“Thank you,” Tilian whispered into Jon’s ear, nuzzling him gently. “That felt real.”

Jon shivered at the tenderness. “It was.”

And he was telling the truth.

The door had opened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :3
> 
> this is it... i hope you've enjoyed it <3
> 
> i have a bonus chapter in the works, too... !!!! so please, get excited haha.


	8. Bonus Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two get bored at a party. They find something better to do.

It was just another party. Not that big of a deal. There were friends, and friends of friends, and people that weren’t really friends with anybody but were there for the booze. Nothing unusual. Tilian had even made sure to stay away from the drinks, tonight, to avoid any incidents. Nothing had gone wrong, as far as he could tell. But boy, did he want to get out of there. He was feeling pretty antsy. That might have had something to do with Will and Matt drunkenly shouting over the music to each other across Tilian, into his ears. He was staring forward into the crowd, trying not to pay attention to whatever his bandmates were talking about. He would’ve moved, and god would he have loved to move, but it was too tightly packed to squeeze through. He guessed the house was at least a little over capacity. He saw Matt nodding fervently from his peripheral vision.

“However, Flareon is the only fully evolved Fire-type Pokémon that cannot learn SolarBeam,” Will yelled out to Matt, the latter still nodding aggressively through a chug of his drink. Tilian shifted uncomfortably, taking a delicate sip from his cup of water. It was going to be a long night.

Tilian decided to try and make it somewhat bearable, and join the conversation. Maybe he could learn something.

“Is that it? That’s interesting,” Tilian mused, turning his head to face Will. The latter nodded, mirroring his fellow drunkard.

Matt piped up in response. “It really is. It makes you rethink the mechanics of Fire-type Pokémon. Like, how do they get that fire? How do they shoot it out of their mouths like that? Why can Flareon not channel it into pure sun energy like the others? It’s fucked up.”

And, with that, Tilian tuned out again.

He scanned over the room once more. He had somewhat of a good viewpoint, from his height. He mostly saw the tops of other dudes’ heads, though.

He was loath to admit, even in his own mind, that he knew he was looking for someone in particular. Though it seemed even through his inebriated haze, Will could read it on Tilian’s face.

“Hey man, if you’re like, looking for Jon,” he slurred, “I think I saw him by the TV?” He accentuated this with a wobbly point towards the living room. “They’re having a kind-of Smash tournament or something in there.” Matt nodded in affirmation.

Tilian’s heart leapt the smallest bit at how obviously he rotated around Jon. He let the sudden anxiety of that sublimate over the allaying thought that Will likely just thought they were close as friends. There was no obvious indication otherwise. Tilian’s heartrate slowed in accordance. He swallowed.

“Oh, okay,” Tilian replied. “I guess I’ll, haha, head over then, and see.” He pushed forward slightly, apologizing to those in front of him. As he slowly snaked his way through the crowd, he could hear Will and Matt’s conversation continue behind him.

“So, yeah, I’m working on a medley of all seventeen Pokémon theme songs. I’ve worked a lot of the melodies out in my head, already, did you wanna hear? It’s sick.”

This was followed by an enthusiastic approval by the drummer.

Tilian rolled his eyes.

He heard distinctly Smash-sounding noises become clearer with every step. Though by the time he got to a clear space behind the couch, and the players situated on and around it, Jon was nowhere to be found. Tilian let out a sigh. A sting of embarrassment came over him, like a blanket draped over his shoulders, making him blush. He really was kind of ashamed at how disappointed he felt for not finding Jon, here. His mental gymnastics were becoming quite complicated, lately.

After the past few weeks, he’d gotten more used to feeling _normal_ about his… _whatever_ it was, with Jon. He was averse to calling it anything, still. It was still a secret, but they had decided almost wordlessly to relax more around each other. They’d been hanging out more, and treating each other better, and at least, to Tilian, it no longer felt like sex was the main drive behind it. He genuinely enjoyed the other’s presence, and, startlingly, his affection (well, Jon’s weird, removed form of it anyway). Even if Tilian felt his feet go cold when he thought of it like that.

He wasn’t going to admit it to Jon, but there was still a remnant of what Tilian knew was shame, of fear, of this. Not that he was _ashamed_ of Jon, or what they did together, just… it was hard, getting used to this new reality.

Tilian brought his view up from the couch and looked around. His eyes caught on a soft gaze squared right at him, and he smiled. Jon was standing around a group of people near the stairs. It appeared he’d been keeping an eye on Tilian for a while; the latter saw the slightest flinch of surprise from the other man once their eyes finally met.

Jon’s eyes flicked away nervously for a brief moment, before returning to Tilian. A small grin formed on his face in response, before he returned to his usual neutral expression, looking back towards the group. Jon glanced again at Tilian for a brief moment, blinking slowly, enough that maybe no one else saw, but Tilian knew what it meant. Tilian saw Jon say something to the group, then slip off towards the hallway.

Tilian was closer to the front door, but decided on the long way out. He figured it might’ve been more conspicuous, but he didn’t really know. He slid out towards the wall, keeping close to it, his head bowed low as he headed towards the back door. He prayed silently for his covertness.

The cool dry night air hit him lovingly as he closed the screen door of the back porch behind him. He was only wearing a tee and jeans, but house parties were saunas. He fanned himself with his shirt in an attempt to clear him of his stickiness.

Tilian’s boredom had become replaced with his singular goal of getting to Jon’s car. They hadn’t driven to the house together (they were carefully sparse about that; Tilian took an Uber), but Tilian had kept an eye on where from Jon had arrived. He headed in that general direction while opening up his phone. Jon had already sent him a Snapchat message.

“im parked by the streetlight”

Tilian turned around and headed in that direction.

Jon was now really all that was on his mind. Tilian’s mind’s eye drifted from just seeing Jon, smiling, as like earlier, to maybe kissing Jon like he’s wanted to all night, and holding his hand, and even to himself, Tilian thought it a wonder he’d not fallen over his own feet onto the sidewalk with how blinded he was by these dreamt-up images.

Soon enough, Tilian came upon the streetlight, and Jon leaning his back on the passenger side of his car, hands in his pockets, eyes to the ground. Tilian was almost overwhelmed at the sight, somehow, of Jon standing alone, bathed in light, his soft hair illuminated to its brown undertones, surrounded by otherwise impenetrable darkness. He was just standing there, but Tilian almost couldn’t speak at the sudden rush of unexplainable emotionality that came over him. So, he just breathed through a small smile, audibly enough for Jon to look up at him.

“Hop in,” Jon said with a grin, gesturing vaguely to the car. He stepped over to the driver’s side, letting himself in. Tilian followed suite.

As soon as the doors were closed, his ass barely hitting the car seat, Tilian grabbed tightly to the edges of Jon’s sleeves, pulling him hard into a kiss. Jon responded, quickly, with a light kiss of his own, before pulling away and buckling himself in. Tilian did in kind.

Now that they were alone, Tilian was feeling much braver. He placed his hand lightly on Jon’s thigh. Jon touched Tilian’s hand for a moment, before pulling his own hands into his lap. Tilian couldn’t see much of Jon in the dark, but he was enjoying what he could, gazing over the other man.

“Interesting party, huh?” Tilian laughed.

“That was a shitshow,” Jon responded, clearly agitated, “they didn’t have any extra controllers for Smash, so I had to use the fucking Joycons.”

“Uh-huh?”

“And dude? Those people I was talking to? Would _not_ shut up about ultimate. Not like—not Smash, y’know—”

“The sport?”

“Yeah. I felt out of place being the only fucker not wearing cargo shorts.”

Tilian let out a small laugh.

“Will and Matt were having a really in-depth conversation about Pokémon. Have they always been like that?”

“Definitely. I swear they were separated at birth.”

“That’d make a lot of sense,” Tilian murmured, his voice lowering.

A soft silence laid over them. Tilian felt a lightness inside him; the quietness didn’t feel awkward, or weird, but natural. He just kept his eyes on Jon, brushing over the latter’s thigh gently, as the other man looked away nervously. Tilian might’ve imagined it, but he thought Jon could have been blushing, in that moment.

“We, uh, should probably head somewhere else,” Jon started, looking sideways towards Tilian. “I mean, obviously. We’re way too close to the house.” Through his neutral visage, it was easy to tell he was flustered.

“Isn’t there a creepy park around here,” Tilian replied, “that doesn’t have any lights?” He grinned, leaning in.

“God, right, that one. I guess we could head there, yeah,” Jon mumbled.

A pause.

“Well?”

Jon nodded, starting the car. Tilian pulled his hand away, relaxing into the seat. He continued.

“Get a move on, or I’m gonna end up giving you road head,” Tilian laughed. He crossed his arms, shifting his gaze forward onto the street. Jon let out a nervous chuckle in response.

“Can’t, uh, can’t have that,” he said, clearly trying to keep his composure as he pulled onto the road.

The park was a few blocks away. The two kept quiet the ride there. Tilian’s impatience was belied by him bouncing his knee in his seat. He peered out the windows at the dark houses they passed by, slowly thinning out into a more wooded area.

“Wow, it really _is_ as creepy as I remembered,” remarked Tilian, his eyebrows raised, as they pulled into the parking lot.

“Perfect for us, I guess,” Jon said, parking, turning off the engine, unbuckling.

“Being creepy, you mean?” Tilian laughed.

“I—” Jon paused, “you know what, yes. I do mean that.” He gave Tilian a smirk.

Tilian unbuckled himself and eagerly leaned forward into another kiss. He replaced his hand onto Jon’s thigh and gave it a tight squeeze. Jon smiled, wrapping his arms around Tilian, pulling him closer, running his hands through the other man’s hair. Tilian was glad to see that Jon was just as desperate for his touch as he was. He was really just obsessed, in the moment, with the softness of Jon’s lips, and the warmth of his arms. They met each other’s lips in quick succession, leaning into one another, until Jon jerked his elbow into the steering wheel, popping the horn for a split second, causing them both to jump. They separated for a moment, giving themselves time to breathe. Tilian realized, then, that he had his knees almost over the console, and that he had bent over to an extreme degree, almost pushing Jon over (the only thing preventing that being the door right behind him), to not hit his head on the roof in the small space of the front seat. He took in a breath, leaning back, staring at Jon.

“Maybe we should move to the back seat,” Tilian mumbled, sheepishly. Jon nodded in response.

The smaller man then easily slid into the back seat over the center console. Tilian rolled his eyes. He opened the door, stepping out of the car, then into the back seat. Jon looked at him, brows furrowed, in confusion.

“Why’d you go around?”

“Dude, I’m—I was _not_ going to fit through there.”

“You could’ve pulled the seat back.”

Tilian sighed in agitation, before playfully pushing Jon backwards, then pulling himself over the other man, lowering himself onto his elbows on either side of Jon. Tilian pressed his mouth to Jon’s, nibbling on the latter’s lip gently. Jon let out a purposeful sigh in response. Tilian leaned heavily onto Jon, who pulled his legs around to Tilian’s sides. A grunt from Jon let Tilian know that the weight was a bit much on his chest, but Tilian persisted, knowing his warmth would push Jon further into need. He was quite familiar at this point with what got past Jon’s barriers; he knew where many pieces to the other man’s puzzle belonged.

Jon opened his mouth slightly, letting out another soft sigh, giving Tilian the chance to slip his tongue in. Jon pulled lightly on Tilian’s hair as the latter explored, his other hand finding its way up Tilian’s shirt. He pressed his hand to Tilian’s back, feeling his warmth, loving the intense sensation of his musculature in movement. He pushed his hips up to Tilian, begging for his touch.

Tilian responded in kind, separating from Jon to sit on his heels. He sat for a moment, before working fervently to unzip Jon’s jeans. Jon pulled his legs up, slipping them off, leaving him only in his briefs and shirt. Tilian, smiling, let his hands travel up and down Jon’s thighs, onto his middle, letting out a small laugh.

“What—why’re you laughing?!” Jon muttered, with a tone of frustration, his gaze flicking between Tilian’s eyes and the man’s hands. He gripped at Tilian’s arm, preventing its exploration further.

“I just, ah, I don’t know,” Tilian said, still grinning. “Honestly, you’re just cute. It’s a little overwhelming.” He felt Jon’s grip on his arm tighten in response, his gaze averted. The other man then let go, crossing his arms, biting his lip. In the low light, Tilian could tell he was beet-red. Tilian’s face was starting to hurt from smiling so much. He leaned down to lay kisses down Jon’s neck, and chest, in apology. Jon laid his hand on Tilian’s head, grumbling. His other hand gently brushed at Tilian’s arm. Tilian settled for a spot just below his collarbone, far from most necklines, leaving a small hickey, then another, and another, in succession. Jon pulled on his hair, letting Tilian know he was being a little too much. Tilian brought his head back up for a kiss, meeting Jon’s eyes.

“D’you have lube back here?”

Jon gazed at him, for just a moment.

“Y-yeah, back of the seat.”

Tilian leaned forward towards the seat pocket, intentionally brushing his leg against Jon’s cock, inducing a soft exhale from the other man. He then carefully slid his own pants down, pulling out his dick. They did their usual routine of prep, Tilian caressing Jon’s thighs, whispering sweet words, until he felt Jon was ready.

“You good?”

Jon let out a held breath.

“Yeah.”

Tilian pulled Jon’s hips up to his own, taking a short moment to position himself before thrusting in with a quick movement. They’d done this a few times since their late night many weeks ago, but the sudden force was still enough to elicit a choked breath from Jon, his teeth gritted. Tilian slowly worked up a rhythm, enjoying from his perspective Jon’s soft, overwhelmed expression, eyes averted, his hands balled into fists, his shirt soaked with sweat. And with every movement, every thrust, he could hear the softest breaths, and see Jon’s hand grip tightly at his own shirt, at the car seat, anything to ground him through his arousal. It was here, then, that Tilian noticed that although Jon hadn’t touched his own cock, as was usual, the latter man was clearly aroused, his erection leaking pre all over his middle. This sent a flutter through Tilian’s chest. A cheeky smile forced its way onto his face. He cleared his throat.

“Wow, haha,” he whispered, before bringing his voice up to a slightly higher volume. “You’re really enjoying this, huh?”

Jon’s eyes widened in surprise, meeting Tilian’s quickly. They didn’t usually talk during sex, so Jon was in shock, his eyebrows raised, mouth agape. His face reddened upon the realization behind Tilian’s words. But before he could respond, Tilian spoke up once again.

“I didn’t, uh, expect that out of you,” he said with a smile, followed by a deep breath. He slowed his pace, then continued. “To be so turned on just from me fucking you, haha.”

“It—it’s not, it’s—” Jon mumbled, attempting a response. He averted his eyes once more, covering his mouth with a free hand. Tilian could feel the other man’s body heating up. Another piece of the puzzle.

“It’s so fucking hot,” Tilian pressed, picking up the pace once more. His own mind felt foggy with arousal. “It’s so hot, knowing you want me so fucking bad. I could do whatever I want to you, and you’d come for me, huh?”

“Oh my fuck, fucking god,” Jon breathed, “fucking s-stop.” He bit into the palm of his hand, tears in his eyes. He was letting out soft, shaky breaths.

“I know you don’t want that,” Tilian continued, softer now. “You love this, don’t you?”

“Fuck o-off, _god,_ ” Jon whined, and before he could get another word in, Tilian shifted, spitting into his hand, before roughly grabbing Jon’s cock. It took only a few strokes before Jon came with a shudder, letting out a muffled _fuck_ through his hand. Tilian came moments later, thrusting through his orgasm as Jon breathed heavily below him. Tilian bent down once more, giving Jon light kisses, before finally pulling out, scooting back a few inches to allow them both room to breathe.

Jon laid there, wiping his face with his shirt, shaking legs pulled together.

“Fuck you, man,” he mumbled, “you’re such an asshole.”

Tilian fanned himself with his shirt. He brushed his hair back a few times before giving in to the fact that he’d sweat so much his pomade had lost all efficacy. Long strands fell over his face as he turned to face Jon, with a wide grin.

“ _Am_ I now? Is that _really_ what you think?”

“Yup. Not taking it back,” Jon replied with a sigh.

Tilian chuckled. He shifted forwards, grabbing Jon by his arms, forcibly pulling him up into a hug. Jon stiffened, then relaxed into Tilian’s arms. Tilian gave him a squeeze, ruffling his hair. Jon said something quietly into Tilian’s chest, inaudibly so.

“I’m sorry?” Tilian responded.

“Can—can you grab some napkins from the console, I feel kinda gross.”

They cleaned up, and sat back for some moments. Jon laid horizontally in the backseat, his legs across Tilian’s lap, laying his head on the headrest. He had his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes to the floor of the car. Tilian, his back to the door, gazed outside the back window into the thick darkness surrounding them.

“It’s pretty fucked up that they don’t light this place at night, come to think of it,” he mused.

“Yeah. I mean, they probably just don’t care enough. Not like they have to. I don’t think I’ve seen a kid on this playground since, well… I guess, when I was a kid.”

“Ah.”

Silence.

“You know, at the, uh, party,” Jon started, quietly, “I mean, I guess you get it a lot, but it’s hard to not notice how many people look at you, like… like—”

“Like they wanna take a bite out of me? Yeah, haha, totally.”

“I mean, not even just chicks, but like dudes, everyone—not like I’m jealous, or whatever, because that’s fucking stupid, but, I don’t know, it’s—it’s weird.”

Tilian let out a snort.

“Yeah, whatever you say—”

“Just, shut up,” Jon interrupted. He kept his eyes to the floor.

“Well, it’s new to me, too, I guess,” Tilian continued with a laugh. “I still feel like I stick out around those kinds of people, and not in a good way. It’s hard to let go of, you know, what you grow up with.”

“I guess, yeah.”

A pause.

“Y’know, I saw some dudes taking a look at you, too,” Tilian said, leaning forward. He put his arms around Jon’s legs, pulling him towards himself playfully. “You have a lot more admirers than you think.”

Jon laid back on the seat. “Cool, I guess.”

From his position, Tilian could see some of Jon’s middle peeking out from under his shirt. Tilian brought his hand forward, sneaking it under Jon’s shirt, grabbing at him gently. Jon shot up, grabbing at Tilian’s hand, pulling it away. Tilian grinned, giving him a quick kiss.

“Sorry, I can’t help myself.”

Jon grumbled at him in response. Tilian continued, wrapping his arms around Jon’s waist, pulling him into his own lap.

“So, I’m the only guy you’ve ever been with… “

“What about it?” Jon laid his head in the crook of Tilian’s neck.

“Have you ever thought about experimenting? Seeing what it’s like with other dudes?”

“Wh—not, no, not really?” Jon turned, looking up. He lowered his brows, meeting Tilian’s eyes. “Where’s this coming from?”

“I don’t know, just—just the thought, I guess,” Tilian swallowed, averting his eyes, “of you being treated by other dudes, loved on by them, fucked by them, and yet you just,” he deepened his voice after a pause, taking Jon’s face into his hands, meeting his eyes once more, “you keep coming back, because you know I’m all you need.”

Jon balked after a pause, his face red once more. He gripped at Tilian’s hands around his face, pulling them away.

“What—what’s _wrong_ with you, god,” Jon breathed. “You’re such a fucking weirdo.”

Tilian, smiling wide, wrapped his arms around Jon, who was wriggling around in an attempt to escape. Jon pushed at Tilian’s chest and arms to no avail, before giving in to the hug. Jon could feel Tilian’s suppressed laughter through his chest.

“Sorry, sorry—I just thought it’d be cute.”

“Well, it wasn’t. Pervert.”

Tilian let out a laugh. “Uh-huh.”

They laid there in silence for some time, Tilian shifting to lay flat on the seat, Jon resting on top.

“Thinking about heading back to the party?” Tilian whispered.

Jon sighed in response, before replying.

“Not really. But we shouldn’t just stay here.”

“Wanna go back to my place?”

A pause.

“Yeah, man. Sure.”

Jon looked up, giving him a small smile. Tilian smiled back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's actually actually it. Here's my Q&A as promised:  
> Q: What's wrong with you?  
> A: "Lots of things."
> 
> Q: Are you really an adult?  
> A: Yes. Unfortunately.
> 
> Q: Why did you write this?  
> A: Past the initial idea, I think it was some divine compulsion that drove me to complete this.
> 
> Q: Why are you so bad at writing?  
> A: 'Cause I don't really do it.
> 
> Q: Do you really think Jon and Tilian are in a relationship?  
> A: God, no. I'm not that stupid. Firstly, because they both have girlfriends. Secondly, they're definitely not gay. Thirdly, Tilian is a fan of Jordan Peterson?? Who notoriously hates gay (and trans) people, and he's super fucking weird. So, no. I'm not delusional. I'm just bored.
> 
> Q: Why does Jon bottom in your fic?  
> A: I always bottom my biases. And I bias Jon REALLY hard. It's just a fact of life.
> 
> Q: Will you write more of this?  
> A: If people want! Otherwise I'm pretty good with this as-is.
> 
> Q: When will you stop?  
> A: You fool. I cannot be stopped.
> 
> Q: What would you do if a member of DGD saw this?  
> A: Pray.  
> All jokes aside if someone showed this to them I'd feel really bad :( There's a reason why this isn't search engine indexed. Please be kind and don't share this around. You have to be looking for it to see it. I'll delete it if any of them saw this. Except Tilian I guess. That'd be hilarious. Fuck him.
> 
> Q: kys  
> A: Not a question.


End file.
